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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Little  Journeys  to  Parnassus 


Not  to  know  me  argues  yourselves  unknown, 
The  lowest  of  your  throng. 

—MILTON,  Paradise  Lost,  Bk.  iv.,  1.830. 


Little 
JOURNEYS  TO   PARNASSUS 

By 
Thomas  Speed  Mosby 

If 

Laudator  temporis  acti 


PUBLISHED   BY 

MESSAGE  PUBLISHING  CO. 

JEFFERSON   CITY    MISSOURI 


I  9  2  I 


Copyright,   1921,  T.  S.  Mosby. 


^S7 


/ 


INTRODUCTION. 


No  volume  with  which  the  author  is  acquainted  has  here- 
tofore attempted  to  present  in  abbreviated  form  a  critical 
survey,  however  imperfect,  of  the  classical  periods  of  the  seven 
great  literatures  of  the  world,  and  he  is  persuaded  that  no  such 
work  exists.  The  need  of  such  a  work  is  apparent  to  all  who 
have  sought  to  gain,  in  a  brief  period  of  time,  even  a  slight 
acquaintance  with  many  of  the  literatures  mentioned.  This 
desideratum  the  present  volume,  it  is  hoped,  may  in  some 
measure  supply.  It  will  be  noted,  moreover,  that  the  grouping 
of  the  subjects  herein  treated  will  facilitate  comparison  and 
-  contrast,  and  thus  enable  the  student  to  arrive  at  a  more  ac- 
curate knowledge  of  the  relative  merits  of  an  author  than  he 
might  have  obtained  from  an  entire  volume  on  a  single  subject. 

^  ■  In  every  instance  the  attempt  has  been  made  to  portray 
the  character  faithfully  and  intimately,  however  brief  the 
sketch.  Thus  we  say  of  Horace  that  he  "has  been  the  loved 
companion  of  literary  men  for  twenty  centuries.     In  the  phil- 

^^   osophy  of  amicability  he  stands  without  a  peer.     His  striking 

features   are   humanness   and    modernity.     Always   he   is   the 

-speaking  friend  at  elbow,  varying  quip  and  jest  with  solemn 

admonition,"  etc.     With  all  deference  to  the  opinions  of  others, 

"\it  is  respectfully  submitted  that  a  volume  of  critical  essays 

\  'upon  the  Ars  Poetica  and  the  Odes  could  scarcely  afford  a 
more  accurate  view  of  Horace.  Wherever  it  has  been  thought 
necessary  or  advisable  the  better  to  elucidate  the  subject,  the 
world's  greatest  authorities  in  literary  criticism  have  been 
quoted.  Conspicuous  instances  are  the  essays  on  Byron  and 
Goethe.  Indeed,  it  is  believed  there  is  no  other  work  of  the 
kind  so  rich  in  quotations  of  that  sort.  The  reader  will  par- 
don, let  it  be  hoped,  any  disposition  to  exaggerate  the  value 
of  this  feature  of  the  work.  To  the  author  it  has  appeared  to 
be  of  the  very  highest  importance. 

This  work  is  not  primarily  designed  for  use    as  a  textbook 
in  the  schools.     But  for  the  purposes  of  supplemental  reading, 

CV) 


vi  INTRODUCTION. 

and  as  a  work  of  reference,  it  should  be  found  invaluable  as  an 
aid  to  students  and  literary  workers.  For  these  reasons  it  has 
been  officially  adopted  for  the  Pupils'  Reading  Circle  in  the 
pubhc  schools  of  the  State  of  Missouri.  For  these  purposes 
the  general  index  at  the  end  of  this  volume  will  add  materially 
to  its  value. 

In  the  seventy  essays  herewith  submitted  it  has  been 
necessary  to  omit  much  of  interest  and  value.  But  if  the  au- 
thor has  succeeded  in  his  purpose,  the  reader  will  delve  more 
deeply  into  the  rich  mines  of  which  these  fragments  are  but 
specimen  ores.  In  a  time  so  largely  given  to  material  pursuits 
it  may  profit  us  to  remember  that  some  old  things  are  true. 
Times  change,  but  the  eternal  verities  abide.  There  are 
truths  which  age  cannot  crumble,  beauties  which  time  cannot 
efface.  The  good  and  true  remain.  Nothing  else  really 
matters.  Out  of  the  chrysaUs  of  things  that  are  dead  new 
beauties  bloom,  in  perpetual  kinship  with  the  glory  and  the 
dream  we  thought  no  more.  The  rainbow  fades,  but  its  colors 
reappear  in  a  myriad  of  living  forms,  in  an  area  bounded  only 
by  the  limits  of  the  sun. 

It  was  Samuel  Johnson  who  said:  "That  man  is  little 
to  be  envied  whose  patriotism  would  not  gain  force  upon  the 
plain  of  Marathon  or  whose  piety  would  not  grow  warmer 
among  the  ruins  of  lona."  Nor  is  he  more  to  be  envied  whose 
mind  cannot  draw  new  light  from  the  olden,  golden  truths 
that  loom  Uke  distant  stars  in  the  horizon  of  the  soul. 

Hence  these  little  journeys  to  the  mount  of  inspiration. 
For  those  whose  busy  days  will  not  permit  a  more  extensive 
acquaintance  with  the  great  minds  of  the  past  the  following 
essays  may  serve  at  least  to  beguile  the  tedium  of  a  leisure 
hour;  or  perhaps  as  an  introduction,  faintly,  but  none  the  less 
faithfully,  it  is  hoped,  shadowing  forth  the  outlines  of  those 
beauties  which  were  not  born  to  die,  and  which  have  in  every 
age  enriched  the  soul  of  man. 

THOS.  SPEED  MOSRY. 

Jefferson  City,  Missouri,  July  28,  1921. 


CONTENTS. 


Introduction. 

Chapter.          Part  One— GREAT  ROMAN  AUTHORS.  Page 

I.  Livy 1 

II.  Horace 4 

III.  Virgil 7 

IV.  Luean 1^^ 

V.     Ovid 1^ 

VI.  Lucretius !•* 

VII.     Plautus ^^ 

VIII.     Marcus  Aurelius ~^^ 

IX.     Sallust --5 

X.     Quintilian -tJ 

Part  Two— GREAT  GREEK  AUTHORS. 

I.     Aeschylus 29 

II.     Aristotle 32 

III.  Euripides 35 

IV.  Homer 38 

V.     Plato 42 

VI.      Plutarch 46 

VII.     Menander 49 

VIII.     Pindar 53 

IX.     Anacreon 5(3 

X.     Theocritus fiO 

Part  Three— GREAT  ITALIAN  AUTHORS. 

I.     Dante (J3 

II.     Petrarch 68 

III.  Boccaccio 72 

IV.  Tasso 75 

V.     Ariosto 80 

VI.     Boiardo 83 

VII.  Michelangelo 80 

VIII.     Machiavelli 90 

IX.     Metastasio 94 

X.     Alfieri 97 

Part  Four— GREAT  SPANISH  AND  PORTUGUESE  AUTHORS. 

I.      Lope  de  Vega 101 

II.  Cervantes 107 

III.  Camoens 112 

IV.  Quevedo 115 

(vii) 


viii  CONTENTS. 

Chapter.  Page 

V.     The  Argensolas 118 

VI.     Villegas 120 

VII.     Montalvo 122 

VIII.     Guillen  de  Castro 125 

IX.     Vicente 128 

X.     Calderon 131 

Part  Five— GREAT  FRENCH  AUTHORS. 

I.     Montaigne 135 

II.     Rabelais 139 

III.  Fenelon 143 

IV.  Montesquieu 146 

V.     Corneille 149 

VI.     Racine 152 

VII.     Moliere 155 

VIII.     La  Fontaine 158 

IX.     Voltaire 160 

X.     Hugo 164 

Part  Six— GREAT  GERMAN  AUTHORS. 

I.     Goethe 169 

II.     Schiller 175 

III.  Lessing 180 

IV.  Kant 183 

V.     Richter 187 

VI.     Klopstock 190 

VII.     Wieland 194 

VIII.     Herder 197 

IX.     Heine 200 

X.     Weber 204 

Part  Seven— GREAT  BRITISH  AUTHORS. 

I.     Shakespeare 209 

II.     Spenser 215 

III.  Milton 219 

IV.  Addison 224 

V.     Pope 228 

VI.     Byron 233 

VII.     Scott 239 

VIII.     Wordsworth 243 

IX.     Dickens 248 

X.     Tennj'son 255 

Index 265 


PART  ONE 


GREAT  ROMAN  AUTHORS 


I.  LIVY. 

II.  HORACE. 

III.  VIRGIL. 

IV.  LUCAN. 

V.  OVID. 

VI.  LUCRETIUS. 
Vli.  PI,AUTUS. 

VliL  MARCUS    AURELIUS. 

IX.  SALLUST. 

X.  QUINTILIAN. 


Oh  Rome!  my  country!  city  of  the  soul! 
The  orphans  of  the  heart  must  turn  to  thee, 
Lone  mother  of  dead  empires. 

—BYRON,  "Childe  Harold,"  Canto  iv.  St.  78. 


I. 

LIVY. 

In  the  monastery  of  Justina  (anciently  the  temple  of  Juno) 
at  Rome,  in  the  year  1413,  there  was  discovered  a  monument  bear- 
ing the  following  inscription:  "Th-  bones  of  Titus  Livius,  of 
Padua,  a  man  worthy  to  be  approved  of  all  mankind;  by  whose 
almost  invincible  pen  the  acts  and  exploits  of  the  Romans  were 
written." 

Never  was  epitaph  more  true,  and  never  was  funereal  inscrip- 
tion more  generally  or  justly  accepted  as  truth  throughout  all 
subsequent  history. 

Born  fifty-eight  years  before  the  Christian  era,  Livy  moved 
amidst  the  literary  glamour  and  imperial  blazonry  of  that  Augus- 
tan Age  of  which  he  was  himself  an  ornament  so  splendid  and  a 
type  so  pure.  The  personal  friend  of  one  emperor  and  the  pre- 
•jeptor  of  another,  history  with  one  voice  acclaims  him  among  the 
greatest  of  the  Romans.  Tacitus  and  the  younger  Pliny  bear 
v/itness  to  the  exalted  esteem  in  which  he  was  held. 

Livy  was  the  friend  of  Augustus  Caesar,  who  employed  him 
as  tutor  of  his  grandson  Claudius,  who  later  became  emperor. 
But  there  is  no  record  of  any  attempt  upon  the  part  of  Livy  to 
leap  a  financial  profit  from  his  high  connections.  All  his  spare 
lime  was  employed  in  writing  his  great  history  of  Rome,  a  work 
to  which  he  had  dedicated  his  life,  and  from  which  he  never 
swerved  until  his  vast  labors  were  completed. 

Livy's  history  of  Rome  comprised  one  hundred  anci  forty-two 
books.  He  did  not  long  survive  the  completion  of  his  gigantic 
task,  and  died  at  the  age  of  seventy -five  years. 

But  thirty-five  of  the  one  hundred  and  forty-two  books  of 
Livy  have  come  down  to  us.'  "What  a  school  of  public  and  private 
virtue  had  been  opened  to  us  at  the  resurrection  of  learning,"  ex- 
claims Lord  Bolingbroke,  "if  the  later  historians  of  the  Roman 
commonwealth  and  the  first  of  the  succeeding  monarchy,  had 


2  UVY 

come  down  to  us  entire.  The  few  that  are  come  down,  though 
broken  and  imperfect,  compose  the  best  body  of  history  we  have ; 
nay,  the  only  body  of  ancient  history  which  deserves  to  be  an  ob- 
ject of  study.  Appian,  Dion  Cassius,  nay,  even  Plutarch  included^ 
make  us  but  poor  amends  for  what  is  lost  of  Livy." 

It  has  been  most  truly  remarked  of  the  clear,  elegant  and 
Ijcid  style  of  Livy,  that  he  could  be  labored  without  affectation; 
diffusive  without  tediousness ;  and  argumentative  without  pedan- 
try. And  if  history  is  indeed  philosophy  teaching  by  examples, 
we  lose  none  of  its  moral  values  in  the  fervent  glow  of  Livy's 
matchless  periods.  In  proof  of  this  v^e  need  but  a  single  specimen 
of  his  lofty  style.  Let  us  take  it  from  the  first  book  of  his  his- 
tory : 

"To  the  following  considerations  I  wish  every  one  seriously 
and  earnestly  to  attend ;  by  what  kind  of  men,  and  by  what  sort 
of  conduct,  in  peace  and  war,  the  empire  has  been  both  acquired 
and  extended;  then,  as  discipline  gradually  declined,  let  him  fol- 
low in  his  thought  the  structure  of  ancient  morals,  at  first,  as  it 
were,  leaning  aside,  then  sinking  farther  and  farther,  then  be- 
ginning to  fall  precipitate,  until  he  arrives  at  the  present  times, 
when  our  vices  have  attained  to  such  a  height  of  enormity  that 
we  can  no  longer  endure  either  the  burden  of  them  or  the  sharp- 
ness of  the  necessary  remedies.  This  is  the  great  advantage  to 
be  derived  from  the  study  of  history ;  indeed  the  only  one  which 
can  make  it  answer  any  profitable  and  salutary  purpose ;  for,  be- 
ing abundantly  furnished  with  clear  and  distinct  examples  of 
every  kind  of  conduct,  we  may  select  for  ourselves,  and  for  the 
state  to  which  we  belong,  such  as  are  worthy  of  imitation;  and 
carefully  noting  such  as,  being  dishonorable  in  their  principles  are 
equally  so  in  their  effects,  learn  to  avoid  them." 

When  we  accept  history  in  the  sense  expressed  by  this  great 
Roman,  we  may  more  fully  grasp  the  truth  of  Bacon's  observation 
that  "histories  make  men  \vise;"  and  the  more  we  study  the  com- 
paratively small  portion  of  Livy  that  has  been  transmitted  to  our 
times,  the  more  we  feel  inclined  to  lament,  with  Bolingbroke,  the 
loss  of  the  greater  portion.  Livy  never  strains  a  point  to  make 
an  epigram;  but  in  the  course  of  his  works  we  find  him,  in  the 


LIVY  3 

heat  of  composition,  throwing  off,  like  sparks  from  an  anvil,  such 
glowing  thoughts  as  these: 

"Men  are  seldom  blessed  with  good  sense  and  good  fortune 
nt  the  same  time." 

"What  is  honorable  is  also  safest." 

"No  wickedness  has  any  ground  of  reason." 

"Treachery,  though  at  first  very  cautious,  in  the  end  betrays 
itself." 

"Prosperity  engenders  sloth." 

"Experience  is  the  teacher  of  fools." 

"As  soon  as  woman  begins  to  be  ashamed  of  what  she  ought 
not,  she  will  not  be  ashamed  of  what  she  ought." 


II. 

HORACE. 

At  the  little  town  of  Venusia,  in  the  year  63  B.  C,  was  born 
Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus,  the  greatest  lyrical  poet  of  Rome. 
V/hile  finishing  his  education  at  Athens,  Horace  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  Brutus,  then  on  his  march  to  Macedonia,  following 
the  assassination  of  Julius  Caesar.  The  poet  was  then  only  in 
his  twenty-third  year,  but  was  made  a  staff  officer  in  the  army 
of  Brutus,  whose  fortunes  he  followed  to  the  ill-starred  field  of 
Philippi.  Returning  to  Italy  only  to  find  his  estates  confiscated, 
he  betook  himself  to  the  imperial  city,  and  in  that  world-metropo- 
]is  his  literary  genius  soon  gained  the  acquaintance  and  friend- 
ship of  the  poet  Virgil,  who  in  turn  presented  him  to  Maecenas, 
the  court  politician  and  patron  of  letters,  who  thereafter  became 
the  poet's  life-long  friend.  Through  Maecenas,  Horace  met  the 
emperor,  Augustus,  with  whom,  for  the  remainder  of  his  life,  he 
lived  upon  terms  of  closest  intimacy. 

Upon  one  occasion  the  emperor  upbraided  his  poetic  friend 
for  having  never  mentioned  him  in  his  odes  and  epistles.  "I  am 
angry  with  you,"  he  v/rote  to  Horace,  "because  you  do  not  espe- 
cially choose  me  to  converse  with  in  the  principal  part  of  your 
writings  of  this  nature.  Do  you  fear  lest  the  appearance  of  my 
intimacy  should  injure  you  with  posterity?"  To  this  genial  and 
complimentary  rebuke  Horace  made  fitting  response  in  the  first 
epistle  of  his  second  book. 

Augustus  Caesar  was  quite  fond  of  both  Horace  and  Virgil, 
and  often,  it  is  related,  while  sitting  at  his  meals,  with  Virgil  at 
his  right  hand  and  Horace  at  his  left,  the  emperor  made  a  jest 
of  Virgil's  shortness  of  breath  and  Horace's  watery  eyes  by  ob- 
i-^erving  that  he  sat  between  sighs  and  tears, 

Philip  Francis  has  summarized  the  views  of  the  critics  of  all 
ages,  in  the  statement  that  Horace  "has  united  in  his  lyric  poetry 
the  enthusiasm  of  Pindar,  the  majesty  of  Alcaeus,  the  tenderness 
of  Sappho  and  the  charming  levities  of  Anacreon."    But  he  is 


HORACE  5 

neither  so  gross  as  Anacreon  nor  so  sensual  as  Sappho.  Likewise 
it  may  be  said  that  he  is  bold  without  blustering,  and  majestic 
without  austerity.  His  strength  is  in  his  unfailing  delicacy  of 
poise,  his  limpid  utterance,  his  translucent  phrase,  his  wholesome 
sanity,  his  bewitching  simplicity  and  ease.  In  the  precise  and 
chiselled  elegance  of  his  diction  the  excellence  of  his  work  is  sur- 
passed by  none,  and  is  approximated  by  no  modern  lyric  bard  in 
our  language  with  the  possible  exception  of  Thomas  Gray,  while 
the  charming  urbanity  and  flowing  sweetness  of  his  mild  ironic 
humor  find  no  modern  counterpart  save  in  the  essays  of  Joseph 
Addison.  A  great  author,  in  relation  to  his  readers,  may  be 
viewed  as  master,  mentor  or  companion.  Horace  has  been  the 
loved  companion  of  educated  men  for  twenty  centuries.  In  the 
philosophy  of  amicability  he  stands  without  a  peer.  His  striking 
features  are  humanness  and  modernity.  Always  he  is  the  speak- 
:ng  friend  at  elbow,  varying  quip  and  jest  with  solemn  admonition, 
iind,  even  when  sad,  smiling  through  his  tears,  helping  and  hop- 
ing, but  never  moping,  along  the  byways  of  life. 

Do  you  remember  his  simple  prayer? 

"Son  of  Latona,  grant  me  a  sound  mind  in  a  sound  body,  that 
I  may  enjoy  what  I  possess,  and  not  pass  a  dishonored  old  age 
without  the  innocent  pleasures  of  music!" 

Much  of  his  philosophy,  we  cannot  doubt,  he  drew  from  the 
simple  life  of  his  Sabine  farm,  the  gift  of  his  friend  Maecenas. 
Here,  in  his  sylvan  retreat,  secure  from  the  tumult  of  the  busy 
capital,  he  learned  to  worship  the  "golden  mean."    Hear  him: 

"The  man  who  loves  the  golden  mean  is  safe  from  the  misery 
of  a  wretched  hovel,  and,  moderate  in  his  desires,  cares  not  for 
i^  luxurious  palace,  the  subject  of  envy.  The  tall  pine  bends 
oftener  to  the  rude  blast ;  lofty  towers  fall  with  a  heavier  crash, 
and  the  lightnings  strike  more  frequently  the  tops  of  the  moun- 
tains. A  well-balanced  mind  hopes  for  a  change  when  the  world 
frowns,  and  fears  its  approach  when  it  smiles.  It  is  the  same 
divine  being  that  brings  back  and  sends  away  the  gloom  of  winter. 
Though  sorrow  may  brood  over  thee  just  now,  a  change  may  ere 
long  await  thee.    At  times  Apollo  tunes  his  silent  lyre,  and  is  not 


6  HORACE 

always  bending  his  bow.  Be  of  good  cheer  and  firm  in  the  hour 
of  adversity,  and  when  a  more  favorable  gale  is  blowing,  thou  wilt 
do  wisely  to  be  furling  thy  swelling  sail."    Again: 

"The  man  caught  by  a  storm  in  the  wide  Aegean,  when  the 
moon  is  hid  by  dark  clouds,  and  no  star  shines  to  guide  him  cer- 
tainly on  his  way,  prays  for  ease:  the  Thracian,  fierce  in  battle, 
prays  for  ease :  the  quivered  Parthians  pray  for  ease —  a  blessing 
not  to  be  bought  by  gems,  purple,  nor  gold.  Ease  is  not  venal; 
for  it  is  not  treasures,  nor  yet  the  enjoyment  of  high  power,  that 
can  still  the  uneasy  tumults  of  the  soul,  and  drive  away  the  cares 
that  hover  round  the  fretted  ceilings  of  the  great." 

Like  other  great  minds  of  the  time,  Horace  saw  through  the 
tinsel  and  glitter  of  Rome  in  her  most  glorious  day  the  venality 
■  that  was  to  destroy  her.     "What  are  laws?"  he  asks;  "vain  with- 
out pubhc  virtues  to  enforce  them." 

"Cease  to  admire  the  smoke,  riches  and  din  of  Rome!"  he 
exclaims. 

"The  age  of  our  parents,"  he  writes,  "worse  than  that  of  our 
grandsires,  has  brought  us  forth  more  impious  still,  and  we  shall 
produce  more  vicious  progeny." 

Horace  is  peculiarly  the  poet  of  friendship.  Only  a  true 
friend  could  say  this :  "He  who  backbites  an  absent  friend,  who 
does  not  defend  him  when  he  is  attacked,  who  seeks  eagerly  to 
raise  the  senseless  laugh  and  acquire  the  fame  of  wit,  who  can 
Invent  an  imaginary  romance,  who  cannot  keep  a  friend's  secret; 
that  man  is  a  scoundrel!  Mark  him,  Roman,  and  avoid  him." 
Many  are  his  tributes  to  his  friends.  To  him  they  were  an  indis- 
pensable condition  of  life.  Nor  did  he  long  survive  those  who 
were  dearest  to  his  heart.  When  Virgil  and  Maecenas  died  he 
followed  them  within  a  few  weeks,  passing  away  at  the  age  of 
fifty-seven;  having,  as  he  said  of  his  own  work,  "raised  a  monu- 
ment more  lasting  than  brazen  statues,  and  higher  than  the  royal 
pyramids,  a  monument  which  shall  not  be  destroyed  by  the  wast- 
ing rain,  the  fury  of  the  north  wind,  by  a  countless  series  of  years 
or  the  flight  of  ages." 


m. 

VIRGIL. 

P.  Virgilius  Maro,  born  seventy  years  before  the  Christian 
era,  was,  after  Homer,  the  greatest  epic  poet  of  antiquity.  He 
died  September  22,  B.  C.  19,  in  the  fifty-second  year  of  his  age. 

Virgil,  the  farmer  poet,  was  not  only  a  man  of  finished  edu- 
cation, but  was  deeply  learned  in  agriculture.  Like  Horace,  his 
contemporary  and  friend,  his  estates  were  confiscated  because  of 
his  early  opposition  to  the  cause  of  Augustus  Caesar,  and,  like 
Horace,  he  received  both  pardon  and  patronage  from  the  emperor. 
Virgil's  first  public  employment  was  in  connection  with  the  royal 
stables,  because  of  his  skill  in  the  cure  of  diseases  among  horses. 
However,  his  literary  genius  did  not  remain  long  inactive,  and  he 
soon  began  the  composition  of  his  Eclogues,  which  created  a 
literary  sensation  in  Rome.  It  is  in  this  work  that  the  well- 
known  phrase  occurs,  "Love  conquers  all  things." 

So  great  was  the  poet's  popularity  following  this  publication 
that,  when  some  of  his  verses  were  quoted  on  the  stage,  and  Virgil 
happened  to  be  present,  the  entire  audience  rose,  thus  according 
to  him  an  honor  which  Roman  audiences  gave  to  none  but  Caesar. 

The  advice  of  Maecenas  and  the  astounding  success  of  his  pas- 
toral poems  (a  field  which  had  not  been  theretofore  attempted  by 
any  of  the  Roman  poets)  led  him  to  next  undertake  the  "Georgics," 
an  agricultural  poem  which  defies  imitation.  The  first  book  of 
the  "Georgics"  deals  v/ith  soil  management,  the  second  with  tree- 
culture,  the  third  with  live-stock  and  the  fourth  with  bee-keeping. 
This  is  conceded  to  be  the  most  finished  poem  in  the  Latin  lan- 
guage. In  the  opinion  of  Addison  it  is  the  most  finished  poem 
in  existence,  every  detail  being  subjected  to  the  most  exquisite 
iJoHsh,  and  refined  and  embellished  to  the  last  degree.  "The  com- 
inonest  precepts  of  farming,"  in  the  language  of  one  critic,  "are 
delivered  with  an  elegance  which  could  scarcely  be  attained  by 
a  poet  who  should  endeavor  to  clothe  in  verse  the  sublimest  max- 


8  VIRGIL 

ims  of  philosophy."     The  famous  motto  "Labor  omnia  vincent — 
Labor  conquers  all" — is  taken  from  this  poem. 

Virgil  was  in  his  forty-fifth  year  when  he  completed  the 
Georgics.  He  now  began  the  "Aeneid,"  his  last  and  greatest 
work,  which  was  to  occupy  the  remainder  of  his  days;  an  epic 
poem  portraying  the  wanderings  of  Aeneis,  bringing  Homer's 
Uliad  down  to  Roman  times,  and  tracing  the  Roman  lineage  to  the 
Trojans;  an  achievement  highly  flattering  to  imperial  Rome,  and 
intensely  pleasing  to  the  Roman  populace.  In  this  great  poem 
Virgil  brought  the  hexameter  verse,  "the  stateliest  measure  ever 
molded  by  the  lips  of  man,"  to  its  utmost  perfection.  The  majesty 
and  force  of  Virgil's  swinging  line  have  echoed  down  the  ages,  and 
will  reverberate  till  time  shall  be  no  more.  The  martial  tread, 
the  onward  sweep,  the  epic  grandeur  of  the  work,  are  fore- 
shadowed in  the  very  first  sentence: 

"Arms  and  the  man  I  sing,  who,  forced  by  Fate, 
And  haughty  Juno's  unrelenting  hate. 
Expelled  and  exiled,  left  the  Trojan  shore." 
But,  with  all  its  wondrous  power,  with  all  its  beauty  and  its 
force,  the  Aeneid  was  not  perfect,  and  none  knew  it  so  well  as 
Virgil.     His  keenly  sensitive  taste  was  only  too  conscious  of  the 
defects  of  the  piece.     He  was  subjecting  the  work  to  a  most  criti- 
cal revision  when  death  ended  his  labors.     Deeply  sensible  of  its 
imperfections,  his  last  request  was  that  the  Aeneid  be  destroyed ; 
but  his  will  was  thwarted  by  the  emperor  Augustus. 

Shortly  before  his  death  Virgil  met  the  emperor  at  Athens. 
Augustus  was  returning  from  his  Syrian  conquests.  He  had 
vanquished  his  domestic  enemies,  and  was  lord  of  the  known 
world.  At  this  time  he  was  considering  the  restoration  of  the 
Roman  republic.  Agrippa  favored  the  idea;  but  Maecenas  was 
for  the  empire.  The  decision,  one  of  the  most  momentous  in 
human  history,  was  left  to  the  poet.  He  declared  for  the  empire, 
and  Augustus  followed  his  advice. 

Virgil,  though  a  deep  scholar,  was  unpretentious  in  his  man- 
ner. He  dressed  and  looked  like  a  farmer.  He  was  modest  to 
the  point  of  timidity.    He  shunned  publicity,  and  was  visibly 


VIRGIL  9 

embarrassed  by  praise.  Although  the  habit  of  mutual  attack  and 
recrimination  was  common  enough  among  Roman  writers  of  the 
time,  they  appear  to  have  been  unanimous  in  their  esteem  for 
Virgil,  and  his  rise  to  fame  was  attended  by  very  little  of  the 
jealousy  that  is  frequently  engendered  upon  such  occasions.  He 
was  never  in  love  and  was  never  married.  His  private  life  was 
as  beautiful  and  chaste  as  the  lines  he  wrote.  But  he  does  not, 
In  any  of  his  poems,  depict  the  character  of  one  good  woman. 

In  one  particular  the  fame  of  Virgil  will  forever  remain 
unique  among  the  world's  great  poets.  A  superstitious  reverence 
has  encircled  his  name.  For  hundreds  of  years  he  was  regarded 
as  a  kind  of  supernatural  being,  endowed  with  magic  power  and 
■9\isdom.  There  was  long  prevalent  a  tradition  that  his  mother 
was  a  virgin.  For  centuries  there  was  a  custom  of  "telling  one's 
fortune"  by  opening  the  "Aeneid"  and  noting  the  first  line  to 
meet  the  eye.  In  the  middle  ages  it  was  attempted  to  be  shown, 
from  the  Eclogues,  that  Virgil  predicted  the  coming  of  Christ.  In 
ancient  times  pilgrimages  were  made  to  his  tomb,  and  his  image 
was  set  up  in  the  heathen  temples  of  Rome.  In  consideration  of 
all  which  one  can  only  say  with  Boswell, 

"Was  ever  poet  so  trusted  before!" 


IV. 
LUCAN. 

After  Homer  and  Virgil,  the  next  great  epic  poet  of  ancient 
limes  is  Lucan,  This  is  the  opinion  of  no  less  distinguished  a 
critic  than  Dr.'  Hugh  Blair,  the  prince  of  English  rhetoricians. 
The  same  authority  assures  us,  moreover,  that  Lucan  was  the 
most  philosophical  and  the  most  public-spirited  poet  of  all  an- 
tiquity. These  opinions,  it  is  beheved,  fairly  reflect  the  judgment 
of  modern  criticism,  notwithstanding  the  particular  faults  pointed 
ont  by  the  German  savant  Dr.  Niebuhr,  by  Dr.  Blair,  and  others. 

Lucan  (Marcus  Annaeus  Lucanus) ,  the  principal  Roman  poet 
« :'  the  so-called  "Silver  Age,"  was  born  in  Spain,  38  A.  D.,  where 
his  father  had  amassed  a  fortune  as  a  farmer  of  the  Roman 
revenues.  The  elder  Lucan  was  a  younger  brother  of  Seneca,  the 
philosopher.  The  poet  in  his  infancy  was  brought  to  Rome,  where 
he  became  a  school-mate  of  Persius,  and  a  friend  of  Emperor  Nero. 
Brought  up  in  an  atmosphere  of  culture,  surrounded  by  the  oppor- 
tunities of  boundless  wealth  and  the  refinements  of  social  position, 
put  forth  by  genius  and  upheld  by  power,  Lucan  entered  with  zest 
^zid  promise  upon  the  briUiant  career  which  the  Roman  capital 
offered  to  men  of  his  type  and  talent.  A  favorite  of  the  emperor, 
he  advanced  quickly  in  the  public  service.  He  became  quaestor 
ixnd  augur.  A  m.an  of  popular  manners  and  a  poet  of  great  power, 
he  rose  rapidly  in  the  public  esteem.  His  public  recitations  and 
doelam.ations  met  with  increasingly  great  applause.  His  fame 
aroused  the  envy  of  Nero,  and  the  emperor's  vindictive  jealousy 
soon  made  his  condition  so  intolerable  that  he  joined  in  a  plot 
against  the  tyrant's  life.  He  was  discovered,  and  ordered  to  his 
death,  at  the  age  of  twenty-seven,  after  vainly  seeking  to  excul- 
pate himself  by  the  infamy  of  a  cowardly  confession.  Implicating 
his  mother  in  the  plot. 

Strange  it  was,  but  true,  that  Lucan,  child  of  luxury  and 
habitue  of  the  court  of  Nero,  should  become  a  lover  of  liberty  and 
£  champion  of  democracy.     Yet  such  he  was. 

10 


LUCAN  11 

The  "Pharsalia,"  a  poem  in  ten  books,  is  the  only  work  of  his 
now  extent.  That  work  is  an  epic  of  democracy,  and  will  forever 
remain  a  part  of  the  well  remembered  literature  of  the  world.  It 
narrates  in  epic  form  the  civil  wars  of  Pompey  and  Caesar,  and 
recounts  the  overthrow  of  Roman  liberty.  It  was  the  hostility 
to  Caesarism  displayed  in  this  book  which,  in  all  probability,  first 
drew  forth  the  ire  of  Nero.  The  poem  has  been  a  favorite  with 
tlie  lovers  of  political  freedom  in  all  succeeding  ages.  It  was 
especially  popular  with  the  republicans  of  Europe  during  the  "Age 
of  Revolutions."  Some  of  the  speeches  of  Cato,  particularly,  in; 
this  poem,  for  moral  sublimity  are  unsurpassed  in  the  annals  of 
antiquity. 

Lucan  lacks  tenderness  and  is  deficient  in  elegance  and  purity 
of  style,  when  compared  with  Virgil;  nor  is  the  epic  structure  of 
his  work  to  be  compared  with  that  great  master;  but  the  stoic 
philosophy  that  breathes  through  the  poem,  the  nobility  of  senti- 
^iient,  and  the  glowing  fires  of  freedom  that  gleam  throughout 
the  piece  will  hold  its  fame  secure.  Some  of  his  epigrams  are 
most  striking,  as  when  he  says,  in  book  V,  "Those  whom  guilt; 
stains  it  equals ;"  or,  in  book  VII,  "Neither  side  is  guiltless  if  its, 
adversary  is  appointed  judge."  His  saying  that  "The  chieftains 
contend  only  for  their  places  of  burial"  suggests  the  line  of  Gray: 

"The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave." 
Another  of  his  famous  aphorisms  is  this:  "He  v.'ho  rules  will  ever 
be  impatient  of  a  partner."  His  keen  insight  into  the  origin  of 
popular  upheavals  may  be  shown  by  a  single  line:  "For  it  is 
famine  alone  that  confers  freedom  on  cities;  a  starving  populace 
knows  no  fear."  And  likewise,  in  book  I,  where  he  says :  "He 
v>'ho  refuses  what  is  just,  gives  up  everything  to  him  who  is 
armed." 


V. 
OVID. 

One  of  the  great  poets  of  the  time  of  Augustus  was  Ovid 
fPublius  Ovidius  Naso)  who  lived  contemporaneously  with  Livy, 
iTorace  and  Virgil.     He  was  born  B.  C.  43,  and  died  A.  D.  18. 

Ovid  was  of  an  ancient  equestrian  family,  and  like  other 
young  Roman  nobles  of  the  time  he  finished  his  education  at 
Athens.  He  was  trained  for  the  bar,  but  the  pursuits  of  litera- 
ture early  engrossed  his  attention,  and  he  is  not  known  to  have 
practiced  law.  Unlike  his  great  contemporaries  in  literature,  he 
3ed  a  profligate  life.  He  was  divorced  twice  and  married  three 
limes  before  his  thirtieth  year.  At  one  time  he  numbered  the 
'Emperor  Augustus  among  his  personal  friends;  but,  because  of 
^•!s  licentious  practices  he  was  banished  from  Rome  in  the  fiftieth 
3  ear  of  his  age,  in  the  same  year  that  Horace  died.  The  seat 
©f  his  exile  was  the  little  town  of  Tomi  near  the  mouth  of  the 
Danube,  on  the  Black  sea,  where  he  spent  the  remaining  ten  years 
of  his  life.  He  appears  to  have  so  conducted  himself  as  to  win 
She  sincere  love  of  the  people  of  Tomi. 

A  number  of  beautiful  poems  were  written  during  the  period 
;:f  his  exile  (among  them  the  Epistolae  Ex  Ponto  and  the  Tris- 
Jtium)  v/hich  generally  bewail  his  banishment  and  entreat  the 
aiercies  of  Augustus,  but  to  all  such  appeals  the  emperor  re- 
aiained  obdurate.  The  precise  reason  for  the  poet's  exile  may 
I  ever  be  known.  The  cause  specified  was  the  publication  of  the 
'^Ars  Amatoria;"  but  this  was  merely  a  specious  pretext,  because 
the  poem  complained  of  had  been  published  ten  years  before  and 
^ad  been  in  general  circulation  ever  since.  Historians  have 
iiiierefore  indulged  the  plausible  conjecture  that  Augustus  took 
personal  offense  at  some  of  the  licentious  acts  of  the  poet; 
although  many  of  the  love  poems  of  Ovid  were  by  no  means  cal- 
tulated  to  improve  the  moral  status  of  a  none  too  decorous  public. 

The  poet  seems  to  have  realized  his  own  moral  instability. 

12 


OVID  •  13 

He  was  weak,  and  he  paid  the  price.     How  truly  he  exclaimed,  in 
the  greatest  of  his  poems: 

"I  see  the  right,  and  I  approve  it,  too, 
Condemn  the  wrong,  and  yet  the  wrong  pursue." 
And  again,  in  the  same  poem : 

"111  habits  gather  by  unseen  degrees. 
As  brooks  make  rivers,  rivers  run  to  seas." 
From  Tomi  he  wrote :  "An  evil  life  is  a  kind  of  death."  Well  did 
Ovid  know  it !  And  none  knew  better  than  he  the  beginnings  of 
evil.  "Resist  beginnings,"  he  urges;  "it  is  too  late  to  employ 
medicine  when  the  evil  has  grown  strong  by  inveterate  habit."  He 
was  of  a  kindly  and  considerate  nature.  Most  truly  did  he  say:  "I 
have  lampooned  no  one  in  satirical  verse,  nor  do  my  poems  hold 
up  any  one  to  ridicule."  He  was,  indeed,  an  enemy  to  none  but 
himself. 

Not  all  of  Ovid's  work  has  come  down  to  us.  "Medea,"  a 
tragedy  which  appears  to  have  been  very  popular,  is  wholly  lost. 
Other  works  have  survived  in  whole  or  in  part.  Among  the  com- 
plete works  he  has  left  us  is  his  greatest,  the  "Metamorphoses." 
This  poem,  in  fifteen  books,  was  one  of  his  later  works.  It  is  a 
literary  masterpiece,  well  worthy  of  the  golden  age  of  Roman 
literature.  The  poet  appears  to  have  been  fully  conscious  of  its 
merit ;  and,  like  Virgil  and  Horace  upon  similar  occasions,  he  does 
not  hesitate  to  say  so.  At  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  book  he 
exclaims:  "And  now  I  have  finished  a  work  which  neither  the 
wrath  of  Jove,  nor  fire,  nor  steel,  nor  all-consuming  time  can  de- 
stroy. Welcome  the  day  which  can  destroy  only  my  physical  man 
in  ending  my  uncertain  life !  In  my  better  part  I  shall  be  raised 
to  immortality  above  the  lofty  stars,  and  my  name  shall  never 
die." 

Ovid  was  an  early  favorite  in  English  literature.  Christopher 
Marlowe  translated  the  "Amores."  The  "Ars  Amatoria"  was 
done  into  English  verse  by  Congreve  and  Dryden.  Both  Dryden 
and  Addison  translated  the  "Metamorphoses."  The  critics  are 
all  agreed  that  much  of  Ovid  was  known  to  Shakespeare.  There 
are  allusions  to  Ovid  in  "Much  Ado  About  Nothing,"  11:7;  "As 
^"ou  Like  It,"  111:3;  "Taming  of  the  Shrew,"  1:1;  lb.  iii;  I;  "Titus 


14  OVID 

Andronicus,"  iv:l;  "Love's  Labor's  Lost,"  iv:2;  "A  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream,"  "The  Tempest,"  iv:7;  and  "Venus  and  Adonis." 
Shakespeare  was  certainly  famihar  with  Golding's  translation  of 
the  "Metamorphoses,"  printed  in  1567.  Old  father  Chaucer,  too 
v.-as  familiar  with  the  Roman  poet,  as  witness  this  opening  line 
from  a  verse  in  the  "Merchant's  Tale:" 

"0  noble  Ovide,  soth  sayest  thou,  God  wot,"  etc., 

Ovid's  pleasing  style,  his  felicity  of  expression  and  facihty 
oc  execution  render  his  compositions  most  delightful  to  lovers  of 
light  and  musical  verse,  while  we  find  in  him  the  origin  of  many 
common  phrases,  such  as  piling  "Ossa  on  Pelion,"  "Agreeing  to 
differ,"  "a  pious  fraud,"  "pursuits  become  habits,"  "no  excellence 
without  effort,"  etc.    Some  of  his  sayings  became  axiomatic,  as: 

"We  covet  what  is  guarded ;  the  very  care  invokes  the  thief. 
Few  love  what  they  can  have." 

"We  are  always  striving  for  things  forbidden,  and  coveting 
those  denied  us." 

"It  is  the  mind  that  makes  the  man,  and  our  vigor  is  in  our 
immortal  spirit." 

"God  gave  man  an  upright  countenance  to  survey  the 
heavens,  and  look  upward  to  the  stars." 

Ovid  passed  away  one  year  before  the  death  of  Virgil. 


VI. 
LUCRETIUS. 

Titus  Carus  Lucretius,  probably  the  gi-eatest  didactic  poet 
the  world  has  ever  known,  was  born  B.  C.  95,  and  died  in  the 
middle  of  the  first  century  B.  C.  The  exact  date  of  his  birth  is 
conjectural,  and  little  is  known  of  his  life,  but  his  great  work, 
*'De  Rerum  Natura,"  a  philosophic  poem  in  six  books,  will  live  so 
long  as  the  human  voice  finds  utterance  for  the  language  of  phi- 
losophy, and  in  its  benign  consolations  the  human  heart  finds 
peace. 

The  purpose  of  his  poem  is  to  vindicate  the  freedom  of 
thought,  and  free  the  human  mind  from  the  dominion  of  super- 
stition; a  truly  noble  object,  and  magnificently  essayed,  even 
if  hardly  attained.  In  this  gi-eat  work,  which  is  done  in  hexa- 
meter verse,  the  serene  contemplations  of  the  philosopher  are 
adorned  with  an  elegance  of  diction  and  a  sweetness  and  harmony 
of  numbers  unsurpassed  in  the  poetry  of  any  language. 

In  philosophy,  Lucretius  was  a  disciple  of  Epicurus.  His 
work  has  been  reviewed  by  many  of  the  first  minds  of  England, 
Germany  and  France.  Tennyson  made  him  the  subject  of  a 
poem.  "Lucretius  was  an  earnest  seeker  after  truth,"  says  one, 
"but  it  was  the  spirit  of  the  typical  Roman,  for  a  definite  practical 
end,  the  emancipation  of  mankind  from  the  bondage  of  super- 
stition  The  enduring  interest  of  the  poem  is  thus  a 

psychological  one,  and  is  due  to  the  unconscious  self-portrayal 
of  one  of  the  noblest  minds  in  history."  There  are  traditions  of 
the  poet's  madness,  his  death  by  suicide,  etc.,  but  these  tales  are 
unsupported  by  historic  testimony. 

While  no  translation  can  adequately  present  the  statuesque 
dignity  of  his  superb  Latin,  the  following  excerpts  will  in  a 
measure  suffice  to  illustrate  his  charm  of  thought  and  expres- 
sion: 

"  'Tis  sweet,  when  the  seas  are  roughened  by  violent  winds,  to 

15 


16  LUCRETIUS 

view  on  land  the  toils  of  others,  not  that  there  is  pleasure  in 
seeing  others  in  distress,  but  because  man  is  glad  to  know  himself 
secure.'Tis  pleasant,  too,  to  look,  with  no  share  of  peril,  on  the 
mighty  contests  of  war;  but  nothing  is  sweeter  than  to  reach 
those  calm  unruffled  temples,  raised  by  the  wisdom  of  philoso- 
phers, whence  thou  mayest  look  down  on  poor  mistaken  mortals, 
wandering  up  and  down  in  life's  devious  ways,  some  resting  their 
fame  on  genius,  or  priding  themselves  on  birth,  day  and  night 
toiling  anxiously  to  rise  to  high  fortune  and  sovereign  power." 

One  cannot  but  recall  the  same  thought  carried  out  by  Milton 
in  his  "Comus:" 

"How  charming  is  divine  philosophy! 

Not  harsh  and  crabb'd,  as  dull  fools  suppose; 

But  musical  as  is  Apollo's  lute. 

And  a  perpetual  feast  of  nectar'd  sweets, 

Where  no  rude  surfeit  reigns." 

Let  us  read  further:  "Why  is  it,  0  man,  that  thou  indulgest 
in  excessive  grief?  Why  shed  tears  that  thou  must  die?  For  if 
thy  past  life  has  been  one  of  enjoyment,  and  if  all  thy  pleasures 
have  not  passed  through  thy  mind  as  through  a  sieve,  and  van- 
ished, leaving  not  a  rack  behind,  why  then  dost  thou  not,  like  a 
thankful  guest,  rise  cheerfully  from  life's  feast,  and  with  a  quiet 
mind  go  take  thy  rest." 

Lucretius  never  ceases  to  exhort  against  the  fear  of  death. 
"Wilt  thou  then  repine,"  he  asks,  "and  think  it  a  hardship  to  die? 
ihou  for  whom  life  is  well  nigh  dead  even  while  thou  livest  and 
on  joy  est  the  light  of  day,  who  wearest  away  the  greater  part  of 
thy  time  in  sleep,  who  snorest  waking,  and  ceasest  not  to  see 
visions,  and  bearest  about  with  thee  a  mind  troubled  with  ground- 
less terrors,  and  canst  not  discover  the  cause  of  thy  never-ending 
troubles,  when,  staggering,  thou  art  oppressed  on  all  sides  with  a 
multitude  of  cares,  and  reelest  rudderless  in  unsettled  thoughts." 

"0  misery  of  men  1"  be  exclaims.    **0  blinded  f ogIb  !  in  what 


LUCRETIUS  17 

dark  mazes,  in  what  dangers  we  walk  this  little  journey  of  our 
life!" 

"How  wretched  are  the  minds  of  men,  and  how  blind  their 
understanding !" 

One  more  sentence — and  one  to  be  remembered,  too — and 
we  take  our  leave  of  this  wizard  of  Latinity :  "Examine  with  judg- 
ment each  opinion :  if  it  seems  true,  embrace  it ;  if  false,  gird  up 
the  loins  of  thy  mind  to  withstand  it." 


PLAUTUS. 

T.  Maccius  Plautus  was  bom  254  B.  C.  and  died  after  an 
active  life  of  seventy  years.  He  was  the  greatest  writer  of  com- 
edy the  Latin  language  has  given  to  the  world. 

The  early  life  of  Plautus  was  filled  with  hardships.  At  the 
age  of  thirty  we  find  him  earning  a  living  by  turning  a  hand-mill, 
grinding  corn  for  a  baker!  But  he  was  soon  to  furnish  to  the 
Romans  bread  of  a  different  sort.  In  his  leisure  moments  he 
composed  three  plays  and  they  were  instantly  successful.  The 
remainder  of  his  life  was  devoted  to  producing  for  the  stage.  He 
is  thought  to  have  been  the  author  of  one  hundred  and  thirty 
plays,  only  twenty  of  which  have  been  transmitted  to  posterity. 

The  plays  of  Plautus  are  distinguished  for  their  rapid  action, 
their  humor  and  their  vivacity.  His  popularity  with  the  ancient 
Romans  was  unbounded  and  his  plays  held  undisputed  possession 
of  the  Roman  stage  for  a  period  of  five  hundred  years — a  longer 
period  of  popularity  than  the  fates  have  vouchsafed  to  any  other 
playright  in  the  entire  course  of  human  history.  Although  some 
of  his  plots  were  adapted  from  the  Greek  drama,  his  portrayal  of 
Roman  life,  and  of  human  nature,  was  so  true  as  to  elicit  instan- 
taneous and  continuous  appreciation,  and  his  work  has  found 
imitators  among  the  moderns  in  Shakespeare,  Dryden,  Addison, 
Lessing  and  Moliere.  Both  Dryden  and  Moliere  copied  his  Am- 
phytrion.  That  Plautus  was  known  to  Shakespeare  is  evident 
from  the  specific  mention  of  the  Roman  poet,  in  Hamlet. 

The  writings  of  Plautus  abound  in  more  or  less  delicate  but 
incisive  thrusts  at  human  folly,  frailty  and  fraud.  Some  of  his 
sayings  have  become  axiomatic,  and  many  a  well  known  phrase 
finds  its  origin  in  his  plays.  In  the  fourth  act  of  his  Trinummus 
he  speaks  of  young  men  "sowing  their  wild  oats."  In  the  same 
play  we  find  (act  IV) :  "The  bell  never  rings  of  itself ;  unless  some 
one  handles  or  moves  it,  it  is  dumb."  In  the  second  act  of  this 
play  we  find:  "He  who  falls  in  love  meets  a  worse  fate  than  he 
who  leaps  from  a  rock." 

18 


PLAUTUS  19 

From  the  Mostellaria  we  glean:  "You  little  know  what  a 
ticklish  thing  it  is  to  go  to  law"  (Act  V) ;  "To  blow  and  swallow 
at  the  same  moment  is  not  easy  to  be  done"  (Act  III)  ;  and 
"Things  which   you   don't  hope,   happen  more  frequently   than 

things  which  you  do  hope"  (Act  I). 

"He  whom  the  gods  love'  dies  young,"  is  from  his  Bacchides, 
act  iv.,  but  is  borrowed  from  the  Greek  comic  poet,  Menander. 

"Ill  gotten  is  ill  spent"  is  from  Poenulus  (act  IV) ,  and  in  the 
same  play  (act  III)  we  find  the  aphorism:  "He  who  does  not 
know  his  way  to  the  sea  should  take  a  river  for  his  guide." 

In  Pseudolus  he  excoriates,  in  this  fashion,  the  gossip  and  the 
slanderer :  \ 

Act  I :  "Your  tittle-tattlers,  and  those  who  Hsten  to  sland- 
der,  by  my  good  will  should  all  be  hanged— the  former  by  their 
tongues,  the  latter  by  their  ears." 

Act  II :  "Do  you  never  look  at  yourself  when  you  abuse  an- 
other?" 

The  same  thought  is  pursued  in  his  Truculentus  (act  I) : 
"Those  who  twit  others  with  their  faults  should  look  at  home." 

In  his  Persa  the  author  strikes  at  ingi^atitude :  "That  man  is 
worthless  who  knows  how  to  receive  a  favor,  but  not  how  to  re- 
turn one"  (Act  V).  "You  love  a  nothing  when  you  love  an  in- 
grate"  (Act  II). 

In  Trinummus  (Act  IV)  he  says:  "What  you  lend  is  lost; 
when  you  ask  for  it  back  you  may  find  a  friend  made  an  enemy 
by  your  kindness.  If  you  begin  to  press  him  further,  you  have 
the  choice  of  two  things — either  to  lose  your  loan  or  to  lose  your 
friend."  Shakespeare,  who  may  have  gotten  here  the  thought, 
improved  the  expression  in  Polonius'  advice  to  Laertes  (Hamlet, 

Act  I.,  Sc.  Ill) : 

"Neither  a  borrower  nor  a  lender  be: 
For  loan  oft  loses  both  itself  and  friend. 
And  borrowing  dulls  the  edge  of  husbandry." 
Plautus  wrote  his  own  epitaph,  and  it  is  worthy  of  reproduc- 
tion as  one  of  the  truest  thoughts  that  ever  fell  from  his  gifted 
pen :    "Plautus  has  prepared  himself  for  a  life  beyond  the  grave ; 
the  comic  stage  deserted  weeps;  laughter  also,  and  jest  and  joke; 
and  poetic  and  prosaic  will  bewail  his  loss  together." 


VIII. 
MARCUS  AURELIUS. 

The  pages  of  history  record  the  name  of  but  one  emperor  who 
was  a  gentleman  as  well  as  a  king  and  who  was  likewise  in  all 
things  an  honest,  upright  and  useful  citizen,  a  profound  student, 
a  conscientious  and  diligent  administrator  of  pubhc  affairs,  and  a 
man  of  blameless  life.  That  man  was  the  Roman  emperor,  Mar- 
cus Aurelius  Antoninus,  who  was  bom  A.  D.  121,  and  died  in  180. 
It  was  Plato  who  wrote,  in  his  "Ideal  Republic" :  "Until  philoso- 
phers are  kings,  and  the  princes  of  this  world  have  the  spirit  and 
power  of  philosophy,  and  political  greatness  and  wisdom  meet  in 
one,  cities  will  never  cease  from  ill — no,  nor  the  human  race,  as 
I  believe,  and  then  only  will  our  state  have  a  possibility  of  life, 
and  see  the  light  of  day.  *  *  *  The  truth  is  that  the  state  in  which 
the  rulers  are  most  reluctant  to  govern  is  best  and  most  quietly 
governed,  and  the  state  in  which  they  are  most  willing  is  the 
v/orst." 

All  these  conditions  were  met  by  Marcus  Aurelius,  and  by 
no  other  person  in  the  entire  history  of  the  world.  He  loved 
wisdom  for  its  own  sake,  and  found  virture  to  be  its  own  reward. 
He  was  humble  in  high  station;  a  statesman  who  detested  poli- 
tics ;  a  soldier  who  despised  the  glamour  of  militarism  and  loathed 
its  bloody  trophies ;  a  monarch  who  scorned  the  trappings  of  em- 
pire, and  who  preserved  to  the  last  the  candor  of  innocence,  and 
the  simplicity  and  gentleness  of  a  child's  heart. 

But  he  was  born  to  troublous  times.  His  life  was  filled  with 
action.  He  knew  no  peace,  during  his  reign  of  twenty  years. 
The  empire  was  assaulted  upon  the  east,  the  west  and  the  north, 
and  torn  by  rebellion  within.  Famine,  pestilence,  earthquakes 
;md  floods  added  their  terrors.  Marcus  Aurelius  had  little  time 
for  the  studies  he  loved  so  well;  but  he  acted  the  philosophy  he 
professed,  he  practiced  the  precepts  he  gave,  and  he  surmounted 
every  obstacle  and  weathered  every  storm.  Through  all  these 
manifold  disasters  he  moved  with  the  sweetness  of  an  angelic 

20 


MARCUS  AURELIUS  21 

spirit  and  the  serene  majesty  of  a  master  mind.  When  a  trusted 
general  revolted  and  was  slain  by  subordinates,  the  philosopher- 
king  lamented  the  fact  that  the  Fates  had  denied  him  his  fondest 
wish — to  have  freely  pardoned  the  man  who  had  so  basely  be- 
trayed his  confidence ;  and  then  he  caused  all  the  correspondence 
of  the  rebel  to  be  destroyed,  in  order  that  others  might  not  be 
implicated  in  the  treason.  He  was,  in  very  truth,  most  blessed 
of  Pagans,  and  noblest  of  the  Stoics.  He  was,  at  once,  a  king 
among  philosophers  and  a  philosopher  among  kings.  Well  may 
they  decry  power  and  riches  who  possess  them  not.  But,  to  pos- 
sess absolute  power,  yet  temper  justice  with  mercy;  to  possess 
unlimited  wealth,  and  yet  lead  an  abstemious  life,  active  in  every 
benevolent  work — this  is  a  test  of  character.  How  many  Chris- 
tian monarchs  are  worthy  to  sit  beside  him  ? 

It  has  been  remarked  that  his  persecution  of  the  Christians 
is  the  one  blot  upon  his  fame,  the  stigma  of  his  reign.  It  will, 
we  apprehend,  be  time  enough  to  rebuke  the  Pagan  emperor  for 
this  when  Christians  cease  their  persecution  of  one  another.  Just 
here,  however,  is  a  lesson  for  the  present  generation.  Let  it  be 
voiced  in  the  words  of  John  Stuart  Mill:  "Unless  anyone  who 
approves  of  punishment  for  the  promulgation  of  opinions,  flatters 
himself  that  he  is  a  wiser  and  better  man  than  Marcus  Aurelius, 
more  deeply  versed  in  the  wisdom  of  his  time — more  elevated  in 
his  intellect  above  it — more  earnest  in  his  search  for  truth — let 
him  abstain  from  that  assumption  of  the  joint  multitude,  which 
the  great  Antoninus  made  with  so  unfortunate  a  result." 

Marcus  Aurelius  wrote  but  one  book — his  "Meditations" — 
and  it  may  be  doubted  if  even  this  was  ever  intended  for  publica- 
tion. However,  in  the  brief  scope  of  this  small  volume  we  find 
the  full  fruition  of  the  Stoical  school  of  philosophy,  "the  gospel 
of  those  who  do  not  beheve  in  the  supernatural."  The  funda- 
mentals of  that  system  of  thought,  long  since  exploded,  need  not 
be  here  discussed.  But  for  all  that  the  little  volume  of  "Medita- 
tions" has  given  strength  to  many.  It  is  one  of  the  most  delight- 
ful of  the  Roman  classics,  and  in  its  pages  we  may  readily  discern 
the  friend  of  man.    Thus,  in  book  II: 


22  MARCUS  AURELIUS 

"And  since  it  has  fallen  to  my  share  to  understand  the  natu- 
ral beauty  of  a  good  action  and  the  deformity  of  an  ill  one ;  since 
1  am  satisfied  the  person  disobliging  is  of  kin  to  me,  and  though 
we  are  not  just  of  the  same  flesh  and  blood,  yet  our  minds  are 
nearly  related,  both  being  extracted  from  the  Deity,  I  am  con- 
vinced that  no  man  can  do  me  a  real  injury,  because  no  man  can 
force  me  to  misbehave  myself;  nor  can  I  find  it  in  my  heart  to 
hate  or  be  angry  with  one  of  my  own  nature  and  family.  For 
we  are  all  made  for  mutual  assistance,  as  the  feet,  the  hands  and 
the  eyelids ;  as  the  rows  of  the  upper  and  under  teeth." 

Many  of  his  maxims  should  be  treasured  in  the  memory  of 
the  remotest  posterity.  There  is,  for  example,  no  sounder  doc- 
trine than  this: 

"He  that  commits  a  fault  abroad  is  a  trespasser  at  home; 
and  he  that  injures  his  neighbor,  hurts  himself." 

"Nothing,"  he  says  elsewhere,  "is  more  scandalous  than  false 
friendship,  and  therefore,  of  all  things,  avoid  it.  In  short,  a  man 
of  integrity,  sincerity  and  good  nature  can  never  be  concealed, 
for  his  character  is  wrought  into  his  countenance." 

The  guiding  principle  of  his  hfe  is  summed  up  at  the  end  of 
book  IX,  where,  speaking  of  a  good  man,  he  says : 

"And  therefore,  when  he  does  a  good  office,  and  proves  serv- 
iceable  to  the  world,  he  has  fulfilled  the  end  of  his  being,  and  at- 
tains his  own  reward." 


IX. 
SALLUST. 

Caius  Sallustius  Crispus,  "the  Roman  Thucydides,"  was  a 
Sabine,  and  his  birthplace  was  Amiternum,  at  the  foot  of  the 
Appenines,  where  he  first  saw  the  light  B.  C.  86.  He  was  one  of 
the  greatest  of  the  Roman  politicians,  and  was  from  the  begin- 
ning a  warm  friend  and  advocate  of  Julius  Caesar. 

Sallust  was  elected  a  tribune  of  the  people  when  he  was 
thirty-two  years  of  age.  From  this  time  forward  his  influence 
was  very  great,  but  his  character  was  so  wretched  that  two  years 
later  he  was  removed  from  the  Senate  on  account  of  gross  im- 
morality. He  was  out  of  office  for  four  years,  when  through  the 
influence  of  Caesar  he  was  restored  to  his  position.  To  all  the 
schemes  of  that  great  political  and  military  genius  Sallust  was 
a  party,  and  he  went  with  Caesar  to  Africa  in  the  military  cam- 
paign against  the  party  of  Pompey.  Having  participated  in  that 
victorious  campaign,  which  resulted  in  the  total  ruin  of  the  Pom- 
peian  party  and  the  suicide  of  Cato,  Caesar  made  him  governor  of 
an  African  province.  He  returned  a  very  rich  man.  He  then 
devoted  the  remainder  of  his  life  to  literature,  and  died  B.  C.  34. 

The  only  works  of  Sallust  that  have  come  down  to  us  are  his 
two  Epistles  to  Caesar,  his  history  of  the  Jugurthine  war,  and 
his  History  of  the  Conspiracy  of  Catiline.  Another  book,  in  the 
nature  of  a  chronicle  of  the  events  of  his  time,  and  said  to  have 
been  in  five  volumes,  has  been  lost. 

Although  the  remnants  of  his  writings  that  have  survived 
are  all  too  brief,  yet  he  is  regarded  as  one  of  the  foremost  of 
ancient  historians.  One  of  his  translators,  the  learned  Dr. 
Stewart,  says  of  this  extraordinary  character: 

"Perhaps  there  is  no  literary  character  that  has  given  rise 
to  keener  sensations  of  aversion  or  partiality,  than  that  of  Sallust ; 
no  one  has  met  with  less  protection  from  his  friends,  or  greater 
persecution  from  his  enemies.  The  earliest  biogi'aphers,  who 
attempted  to  represent  him,  lived  in  too  near  an  age  to  be  free 

23 


24  SALLUST 

from  personal  prepossessions;  and  of  the  later  authors  the  far 
j^eater  number  have  surrendered  their  judgment  to  the  dog- 
matical and  the  arrogant;  they  have  rather  listened  to  declama- 
tion than  inquired  into  facts,  and  have  thereby  been  disabled 
from  deciding  with  candor.  As  to  Sallust,  while  aUve,  he  was 
exposed  to  the  hatred  of  Cicero,  and  the  envy  of  Livy,  and  vilely 
traduced  and  undervalued  by  the  latter,  when  he  was  no  longer 
able  to  answer  for  himself.  Even  down  to  the  present  day  his 
reputation  is  still  mangled  by  the  heated  partisans  of  these  popu- 
lar writers." 

But,  whatever  may  have  been  Livy's  opinions  of  his  charac- 
ter, there  is  no  doubt  that  he  emulated  the  style  of  Sallust,  who 
was  the  first  of  the  Roman  historians  to  adopt  the  rhetorical 
method  of  the  Greeks.  Some  of  the  passages  in  Sallust  are  of 
great  beauty;  as  this,  upon  the  mind: 

"Personal  beauty,  great  riches,  strength  of  body,  and  all 
other  things  of  this  kind,  pass  away  in  a  short  time ;  but  the  noble 
productions  of  the  mind,  like  the  soul  itself,  are  immortal.  In 
fine,  as  there  is  a  beginning,  so  there  is  an  end  of  the  advantages 
of  person  and  fortune;  all  things  that  rise  must  set,  and  those 
that  have  grown  must  fade  away ;  but  the  mind  is  incorruptible, 
eternal,  the  governor  of  the  human  race,  directs  and  controls  all 
things,  overrules  all  things,  nor  is  itself  under  the  power  of  any." 

The  following  sound  political  axiom  also  comes  down  to  us 
from  Sallust: 

"It  is  better  for  a  good  man  to  be  overcome  by  his  opponents, 
than  to  conquer  injustice  by  unlawful  means."  This,  from  a 
partisan  of  Caesar! 

But,  in  the  whole  range  of  the  classics,  there  is  nothing  finer 
than  this,  from  his  First  Epistle  to  Caesar,  although,  mayhap,  it 
came  from  one  who  knew  too  well  its  truth: 

"There  is  yet,"  said  he,  "another  species  of  reform  still  more 
important,  namely,  to  eradicate  from  the  mind  the  love  of  money ; 
vY,  if  that  cannot  be,  to  diminish  as  far  as  possible,  its  baneful 
influence.  Without  such  a  reform,  what  degree  of  prosperity  can 
be  enjoyed  by  a  people,  either  at  home  or  abroad,  in  private  life 


SALLUST         '  25 

or  in  public  transactions  ?  Where  riches  are  idolized,  the  manners 
must  be  corrupted,  the  nerves  of  discipline  relaxed,  and  no  propi- 
tiousness  of  disposition  can  resist  the  allurement.  Even  the  mind 
itself  must  forget  its  powers,  and,  sooner  or  later,  sink  into  in- 
activity. In  the  pages  of  history  we  may  perceive  events  suf- 
ficiently demonstrative  of  this  pernicious  passion;  states  and 
kingdom.s,  that  when  depraved  by  wealth,  have  lost  the  mighty 
empires  acquired  during  the  age  of  poverty  and  virtue.  Nor, 
if  we  attend  to  its  progress,  will  such  extent  of  its  power  create 
astonishment.  The  good  man,  when  he  sees  virtue  contemned, 
and  vice,  if  possessed  of  wealth,  approached  with  deference  and 
honored  with  distinction,  at  first  indignantly  resents  the  prefer- 
ence and  many  a  bitter  reflection  arises  in  his  mind.  But  by 
degrees,  the  splendor  of  rank  dazzles  his  fancy,  and  the  pleasures 
of  riches  gain  admission  to  his  heart ;  until  he  sinks,  at  last,  into 
the  common  corruption.  Where  riches  are  worshipped,  honor, 
good  faith,  probity,  modesty  and  principle  of  every  sort,  are  held 
as  light  in  the  balance:  For  there  is  but  one  path  which  leads  to 
virtue,  and  that  is  difficult  and  rugged;  whereas  to  wealth  there 
are  a  thousand,  ever  open,  and  at  the  choice  of  its  votaries.  I 
beseech  you,  therefore,  let  your  first  care  be  to  lower  riches  in  the 
common  estimation.  Let  the  high  offices  of  Consul  and  Praetor 
be  once  bestowed  on  real  dignity,  and  distinguished  talents,  not 
on  superiority  of  fortune,  and  the  possession  of  the  latter  will  no 
longer  have  power  to*exalt,  or  to  depress,  in  the  opinion  of  the 
world." 


X. 
QUINTILIAN. 

Quintilian — the  school-master,  the  first  to  draw  a  salary  from 
the  Roman  state ;  for,  before  his  time,  teaching  was  done  by  pri- 
vate instructors.  The  emperor  Domitian  established  for  him  a 
professorship  and  awarded  to  him  a  handsome  salary  from  the 
imperial  treasury.  Assuredly,  none  was  more  worthy  of  either 
the  honor  or  the  emolument. 

Marcus  Fabius  Quintilian  was  born  in  Spain,  in  the  year  40 
A.  D.,  and  lived  to  the  age  of  seventy-eight.  He  began  as  advo- 
cate, but  soon  abandoned  the  bar  for  his  favorite  vocation  of 
teaching,  Vv'hich  he  followed  the  greater  part  of  his  life,  instruct- 
ing the  youth  in  the  arts  of  speech.  Martial  called  him  "the 
supreme  controller  of  the  restless  youth."  The  younger  Pliny 
and  two  grand  nephews  of  the  emperor  Domitian  were  among  his 
pupils.  In  him  ancient  literary  criticism  reached  its  highest 
pitch  of  excellence,  and  he  has  been  a  guide  to  the  rhetoricians 
and  orators  of  all  succeeding  ages.  His  reviews  are  always  very 
fine,  and  his  judgments  usually  just.  Some  of  his  characteriza- 
tions are  very  pretty;  as  when  he  speaks  of  how  "Horace  soars 
now  and  then,  and  is  full  of  sweetness  and  grace,  and  in  his  varied 
foiTns  and  phrases  is  most  fortunately  bold;"  or  "the  immortal 
swiftness  of  Sallust,"  or  "the  milky  richness  of  Livy;"  always, 
indeed,  showing  a  sensitive  appreciation  and  accurate  judgment 
of  the  merits  of  any  author  whom  he  touches.  His  great  work  is 
a  complete  treatise  upon  the  subject  of  rhetoric,  in  twelve  books, 
entitled  "De  Institutiones  Oratoris." 

That  he  understood  the  nature  of  youth  and  was  qualified  to 
teach  is  evident  from  some  of  his  maxims  that  have  come  down 
1o  us,  of  which  the  following  are  a  few: 

"Give  me  a  boy  who  rouses  when  he  is  praised,  who  profits 
rvhen  he  is  encouraged,  and  who  cries  when  he  is  defeated.  Such 
a  boy  will  be  fired  by  ambition ;  he  will  be  stung  by  reproach,  and 

26 


QUINTILIAN  27 

animated  by  preference;  never  shall  I  apprehend  any  bad  conse- 
quences from  idleness  in  such  a  boy." 

"By  nature  we  are  very  tenacious  of  what  we  imbibe  in  the 
dawn  of  Hfe,  in  the  same  manner  as  new  vessels  retain  the  flavor 
which  they  first  drink  in.  There  is  no  recovering  wool  to  its 
native  whiteness  after  it  is  dyed." 

"Our  minds  are  like  our  stomachs ;  they  are  whetted  by  the 
ohange  of  food,  and  variety  supplies  both  with  fresh  appetite." 

"I  have  no  great  opinion  of  any  boy's  capacity,  whose  aim  is 
to  raise  a  laugh  by  his  talent  of  mimicry." 

Quintilian  is  in  accord  with  the  most  advanced  educational 
authorities  of  the  present  day  on  the  subject  of  corporal  punish- 
ment. That  he  did  not  believe  that  to  spare  the  rod  was  to  spoil 
the  child,  is  evident  from  the  following  paragraph: 

"I  am  by  no  means  for  whipping  boys  who  are  learning — in 
the  first  place,  because  the  practice  is  unseemly  and  slavish ;  and 
in  the  next  place,  if  the  boy's  genius  is  so  dull  as  to  be  proof 
against  reproach,  he  will,  like  a  worthless  slave,  become  likewise 
insensible  to  blows." 

He  was  a  believer,  also,  in  that  great  educational  truth  which 
is  expressed  in  the  homely  adage :  "You  can't  make  a  silk  purse 
out  of  a  sow's  ear,"  for  he  says: 

"One  thing,  however,  I  must  promise,  that  without  the  as- 
sistance of  natural  capacity,  rules  and  precepts  are  of  no  efficacy." 

As  a  teacher  of  eloquence  he  lays  down  the  following  funda- 
mental principle: 

"Now,  accordmg  to  my  definition,  no  men  can  be  a  complete 
orator  unless  he  is  a  good  man.  It  is  the  heart  and  mental  energy 
ihat  inspires  eloquence." 

The  following,  upon  the  same  subject,  is  fine: 

"Brilliant  thoughts  are,  I  consider,  as  it  were,  the  eyes  of 
eloquence;  but  I  would  not  that  the  body  were  all  eyes,  lest  the 
other  members  should  lose  their  proper  functions." 

And  this: 

"But  give  me  the  reader  who  figures  in  his  mind  the  idea  of 
eloquence,  all  divine  as  she  is;  who,  with  Euripides,  gazes  upon 


28  QUINTILIAN 

her  all-subduing  charms ;  who  seeks  not  his  reward  from  the  venal 
fee  for  his  voice,  but  from  that  reflection,  that  imagination,  that 
perfection  of  mind  which  time  cannot  destroy  nor  fortune  affect." 
How  like  the  noble  sentiment  attributed  to  our  own  Rufus  Choate, 
that  "He  does  not  truly  succeed  as  an  advocate  who  practices  his 
profession  with  an  eye  single  to  the  golden  fee." 

In  the  usage  of  language  he  proclaims  the  cardinal  rule  that 
"The  common  usage  of  learned  men,  however,  is  the  surest  director 
of  speaking ;  and  language,  like  money,  when  it  receives  the  public 
stamp,  ought  to  have  currency."  Which  suggests  the  oft-quoted 
l.'nes  of  Pope : 

"In  words  as  in  fashions,  the  same  rule  will  hold, 
Alike  too  fantastic  if  too  new  or  old ; 
Be  not  the  first  by  whom  the  new  are  tried, 
Nor  yet  the  last  to  lay  the  old  aside." 

The  following  are  among  the  characteristic  sayings  of  Quin- 
tilian : 

"Things  forbidden  alone  are  loved  immoderately ;  wnen  they 
may  be  enjoyed,  they  do  not  excite  the  desire." 

"Though  ambition  in  itself  is  a  vice,  it  is  yet  often  the  parent 
of  virtue." 

"Virtue,  although  she  in  some  measure  receives  her  begin- 
ning from  nature,  yet  gets  her  finishing  excellencies  from  learn- 
ing." 

"Nature  has  formed  us  with  honest  inclinations,  and  when  we 
are  so  inclined,  it  is  so  very  easy  to  be  virtuous,  that,  if  we  seri- 
ously reflect,  nothing  is  more  astonishing  than  to  see  so  many 
wicked." 

"Cultivate  innocence,  and  think  not  that  your  deeds,  because 
they  are  concealed,  will  be  unpunished ;  you  have  committed  them 
under  the  canopy  of  heaven — there  is  a  more  powerful  witness." 


PART  TWO 

GREAT  GREEK  AUTHORS 


I.  AESCHYLUS. 

II.  ARISTOTLE. 
m.  EURIPIDES. 

IV.  HOMER. 

V.  PLATO. 
VI.'  PLUTARCH. 
VII.  MENANDER 
VHI.  PINDAR. 

IX.  ANACREON. 

X.  THEOCRITUS. 


Land  of  the  Muse!  within  thy  bowers 

Her  soul-entrancing  echoes  rung, 
While  on  their  course  the  rapid  hour: 

Paused  at  the  melody  she  sung — 
Till  every  grove  and  every  hill, 

And  every  stream  that  flowed  alonp' 
From  morn  to  night  repeated  still 

The  winning  harmony  of  song. 

— From  "Greece,"  by  James  G.  Brooks. 


I. 

AESCHYLUS. 

Aeschylus,  the  ''father  of  Greek  tragedy,"  was  a  native  of 
Eleusis,  in  Attica,  where  he  was  born  B.  C.  525.  When  thirty- 
five  years  of  age  he  took  a  distinguished  part  in  the  battle  of 
Marathon.  In  a  painting  portraying  this  battle,  the  likeness  of 
Aeschylus  appears  in  the  foreground,  thus  sharing  the  honors 
with  Miitiades,  the  general  commanding  the  Greek  forces  in  that 
memorable  conflict.  Six  years  later,  at  the  age  of  forty-one  (in 
E.  C.  484,  the  year  in  which  Herodotus  the  historian  was  born), 
Aeschylus  attained  his  first  dramatic  success  by  winning  the  prize 
for  tragedy — a  feat  v/hich  he  accomplished  thirteen  times  in  the 
following  sixteen  years. 

The  literary  style  of  Aeschylus,  though  turgid  at  times,  is 
distinguished  for  its  grandeur,  fire  and  force.  He  has  little  of 
tenderness,  but  his  theme  is  lofty,  his  thought  is  noble,  his  m.an- 
ner  elevated,  and  his  grasp  is  bold  and  strong.  Finely  expressive 
of  his  genius,  and  among  the  most  beautiful  creations  of  their 
kind,  are  the  songs  of  the  Furies  in  the  "Eumenides,"  in  "Aga- 
memnon" the  inspiration  of  Cassandra,  and  the  ghost  of  Darius 
in  ''The  Persians." 

Aeschylus  was  invited  to  Sicily  by  King  Hiero,  a  distin- 
guished patron  of  the  learned,  who  had  induced  Pindar  and  Simon- 
ides  to  reside  at  his  court.  One  of  his  plays,  "The  Aetneans," 
was  com.posed  at  the  request  of  King  Hiero.  At  another  time  he 
came  from  Athens  to  have  his  play,  "The  Persians,"  presented  by 
invitation  of  the  same  King. 

In  the  course  of  forty  years  of  active  work  in  the  drama 
Aeschylus  is  believed  to  have  Vv'ritten  ninety  plays,  of  which  the 
titles  of  only  seventy-nine  are  known  today.  Only  seven  of  his 
tragedies  lem.ain.  The  rest  are  lost.  The  seven  tragedies  extant 
are  "The  Suppliants,"  "The  Persians,"  "The  Seven  Against 
Thebes,"  "Prometheus  Bound,"  and  the  trilogy,  "Agamemnon," 

29 


30  AESCHYLUS  "^ 

''Choephori,"  and  "Eumenides."  Of  the  latter  work  Prof.  Clifford 
Herschel  Moore,  a  distinguished  critic,  remarks:  "This  trilogy 
rr;presents  the  maturest  work  of  Aeschylus,  and  we  may  well 
doubt  whether  a  greater  was  ever  written."  Mark  Pattison  de- 
clares it  to  be  "the  grandest  work  of  creative  genius  in  the  whole 
range  of  literature." 

In  its  highest  form,  Aeschylus  was  undoubtedly  the  creator 
of  the  Greek  drama.  Not  only  did  he  introduce  action  to  super- 
sede the  perpetual  chorus,  and  dramatic  dialogue  in  place  of  long 
narrations,  but  he  was  the  first  to  introduce  masks,  costumes  and 
t?cenic  effects.  He  bodies  forth  the  creations  of  his  genius  in  lan- 
guage of  sublimity  and  power,  and  his  place  is  secure  among  the 
master  spirits  of  the  race. 

From  the  "Prometheus  Bound,"  are  taken  the  beautiful  and 
familiar  lines: 

"Ye  waves 
That  o'er  the  interminable  ocean  wreathe 
Your  crisped  smiles." 
And  here  is  a  pretty  fragment  (Plumptre's  translation) : 
"So  in  the  Libyan  fable  it  is  told 
That  once  an  eagle  stricken  with  a  dart, 
Said,  when  he  saw  the  fashion  of  the  shaft, 
'With  our  own  feathers,  not  by  other's  hands, 
Are  we  now  smitten'." 

Hear,  also,  his  tribute  to  justice:  "But  justice  shines  in 
smoky  cottages,  and  honors  the  pious.  Leaving  with  averted 
eyes  the  gorgeous  glare  of  gold  obtained  by  polluted  hands,  she  is 
wont  to  draw  nigh  to  holiness,  not  reverencing  wealth  when 
falsely  stamped  with  praise,  and  assigning  to  each  deed  its  right- 
eous doom." 

And  this,  on  tyranny,  is  as  true  today  as  when  Aeschylus 
wrote  it  twenty-four  hundred  years  ago : 

"For,  somehow,  there  is  this  disease  in  tyranny,  not  to  put 
confidence  in  friends." 


AESCHYLUS  31 

The  conclusions  of  modern  criticism  are  summarized  by  Lord 
Macaulay,  with  his  customary  precision  and  force,  in  the  follow- 
ing quotation  from  his  essay  on  John  Milton : 

"Aeschylus  was,  head  and  heart,  a  lyric  poet.  *  *  *  At  this 
period,  accordingly,  it  was  natural  that  the  literature  of  Greece 
>-hould  be  tinctured  with  the  Oriental  style.  And  that  style,  we 
think,  is  clearly  discernible  in  the  works  of  Pindar  and  Aeschylus. 
The  latter  often  reminds  us  of  the  Hebrew  writers.  The  Book 
of  Job,  indeed,  in  conduct  and  diction,  bears  a  considerable  resem- 
blance to  some  of  his  dramas.  Considered  as  plays,  his  works  are 
absurd;  considered  as  choruses,  they  are  above  all  praise.  If, 
for  instance,  we  examine  the  address  of  Clytemnestra  to  Aga- 
memnon on  his  return,  or  the  description  of  the  seven  Argive 
Chiefs,  by  principles  of  dramatic  writing,  we  shall  instantly  con- 
demn them  as  monstrous.  But  if  we  forget  the  characters,  and 
think  only  of  the  poetry,  we  shall  admit  that  it  has  never  been 
surpassed  in  energy  and  magnificence." 


II. 

ARISTOTLE. 

The  most  versatile  intellect  that  mankind  has  ever  known, 
the  master  mind  of  all  antiquity  and  the  great  mental  phenome- 
non in  the  history  of  human  thought,  that  mighty  prodigy  of 
learning  known  to  the  world  as  Aristotle,  still  gleams  adown  the 
ages  like  a  distant  sun,  a  beacon-light  of  learning  that  casts  its 
burning  rays  upon  the  farthest  shores  of  time.  Aristotle  was 
horn  at  Stagira,  B.  C.  884,  eight  years  after  the  death  of  Socrates. 
Pie  was  one  year  older  than  his  personal  friend  King  Philip  of 
Macedon,  and  was  three  years  older  than  Demosthenes. 

The  son  of  a  physician  and  naturalist  of  repute  deriving  his 
ilescent  through  a  long  line  of  medical  ancestors  dating  back  to 
the  immortal  Aesculapius,  born  to  wealth  and  position,  and  reared 
in  an  atmosphere  of  learning,  the  influence  of  heredity  and  en- 
vironment were  united  to  create  in  the  brain  of  Aristotle  the  most 
colossal  mind  that  ever  found  abode  within  the  frame  of  man. 
At  the  age  of  seventeen  he  proceeded  to  Athens,  to  become  a  pupil 
of  Plato,  with  whom  he  remained  for  twenty  years. 

When  Alexander  the  Great  was  born.  King  Philip  announced 
the  fact  to  Aristotle  in  this  letter:  "Know  that  a  son  is  born  to 
us.  We  thank  the  gods  for  their  gift,  but  especially  for  bestowing 
it  at  the  time  when  Aristotle  lives :  assuring  ourselves  that,  edu- 
cated by  you,  he  will  be  worthy  of  us,  and  worthy  of  inheriting 
Our  kingdom."  In  due  time  the  philosopher  accepted  the  trust, 
and  thus  became  the  mentor  of  one  of  the  greatest  characters  of 
history,  and  the  pupil  was  never  wanting  in  proper  respect  for 
his  distinguished  tutor.  Years  later,  when  he  had  defeated  Darius 
in  battle  and  was  in  hot  pursuit  of  the  fleeing  Persians,  Alexander 
paused  to  write  his  old  teacher:  "Alexander,  wishing  all  happi- 
jess  to  Aristotle.     You  have  not  done  right  in  publishing  your 

32 


ARISTOTLE  33 

aoroatic  works.  Wherein  shall  we  be  distinguished  above  others, 
if  the  learning,  in  which  we  were  instructed,  be  communicated  to 
the  public  ?  I  would  rather  surpass  other  men  in  knowledge  than 
in  power." 

Aristotle  at  the  age  of  fifty  set  up  his  school  in  Athens  near 
the  temple  of  the  Lycian  Apollo,  whence  we  derive  our  word 
"lyceum,"  the  name  applied  to  his  school.  Aristotle  and  his  fol- 
lowers were  called  "Peripatetics,"  from  the  peripaton,  or  walk, 
which  adorned  the  temple.  Here  he  wrote  and  taught,  and  lived 
the  life  he  loved,  until  jealous-hearted  rivals,  exasperated  at  his 
vast  superiority,  as  mediocrity  is  so  often  angered  at  the  sight  of 
excellence,  caused  false  charges  of  "impiety"  to  be  preferred 
against  him.  He  would  have  met  the  fate  of  Socrates  had  he  not 
saved  himself  by  a  timely  flight  to  Chalcis  where,  in  the  sixty- 
third  year  of  his  age,  he  died  of  a  broken  heart. 

According  to  credible  report,  Aristotle  was  the  author  of  four 
hundred  books,  but  forty-six  of  which  have  survived  to  us.  More 
{han  ten  thousand  commentators  have  sought  to  elucidate  and 
illustrate  his  works.  His  influence  has  been  enormous  in  every 
field  of  thought.  He  was  the  first  to  perfect  a  method  of  reason- 
ing, and  formal  logic  has  made  little  improvement  since  his  day. 
He  raised  to  the  status  of  independent  disciplines  the  subjects  of 
Logic,  Grammar,  Rhetoric,  Literary  Criticism,  Politics,  Psycholo- 
gy. He  first  discovered  the  law  of  the  Association  of  Ideas.  He 
collected  158  constitutions  of  various  states,  and  was  the  first  to 
essay  a  scientific  treatise  on  governm.ent.  He  was  the  first  great 
master  of  literary  criticism.  He  was,  as  Dr.  Gillies  says,  "not 
only  the  best  critic  in  poetry,  but  himself  a  poet  of  the  first  emi- 
nence. Few  of  his  verses  indeed  have  reached  modern  times ;  but 
the  few  which  remain  prove  him  worthy  of  the  sounding  lyre  of 
Pindar." 

"Aristotle,"  as  Hegel  says,  "penetrated  into  the  whole  uni- 
verse of  things,  and  subjected  to  the  comprehension  its  scattered 
wealth ;  and  the  greatest  number  of  the  philosophical  sciences  owe 
to  him  their  separation  and  commencement." 


34  ARISTOTLE 

Education  was  his  whole  thought,  the  key-note  of  his  life, 

the  undying  passion  of  his  soul,  and  we  may  fittingly  close  this 
sketch  with  one  of  his  sage  admonitions  upon  the  subject  dearest 

to  his  heart: 

"It  would  therefore  be  best  that  the  state  should  pay  atten- 
tion to  education,  and  on  right  principles,  and  that  it  should  have 
the  power  to  enforce  it ;  but  if  it  be  neglected  as  a  public  measure, 
then  it  would  seem  to  be  the  duty  of  every  individual  to  contri- 
bute to  the  virtue  of  his  children  and  his  friends,  or  at  least  to 
make  this  his  deliberate  purpose." 


III. 

EURIPIDES. 

Of  the  three  great  tragic  poets  of  ancient  Greece — Aeschylus, 
Sophocles  and  Euripides — the  last  named  was  the  latest.  While 
Sophocles  is  considered  the  most  masterly  of  the  three,  Aeschylus 
was  the  first,  and  Euripides  exceeded  either  in  tenderness  and  in 
richness  of  moral  sentiment.  However,  as  Dr.  Blair  says,  "Both 
Euripides  and  Sophocles  have  very  high  merit  as  tragic  poets. 
They  are  elegant  and  beautiful  in  their  style;  just,  for  the  most 
part,  in  their  thoughts ;  they  speak  with  the  voice  of  nature ;  and, 
making  allowance  for  the  difference  of  ancient  and  modern  ideas, 
in  the  midst  of  all  their  simplicity,  they  are  touching  and  interest- 
ing." 

Euripides  was  born  in  Salamis  while  the  great  battle  was  in 
progress  there  between  the  Greeks  and  Persians.  He  grew  up  in 
Athens  without  any  of  the  advantages  of  wealth,  but  was  well 
educated.  He  was  the  pupil  of  Anaxagoras — that  philosopher 
who  said  "philosophy  has  been  my  worldly  ruin  and  my  soul's  pros- 
perity"— and  was  a  warm  personal  friend  of  Socrates.  He  was 
fifteen  years  younger  than  his  great  contemporary,  Sophocles, 
who  frequently  praised  his  work  with  the  utmost  magnanimity. 
Aristophanes,  the  comic  WTiter,  was  his  bitter  enemy,  and  at- 
tacked him  with  satire  and  ridicule  in  a  manner  so  cutting  and 
galling  to  his  sensitive  nature  that  this  circumstance  is  offered 
as  one  of  the  reasons  for  his  quitting  Athens.  Aristotle,  how- 
aver,  has  placed  the  seal  of  his  own  approval  upon  the  literary 
excellence  of  Euripides,  and  this  alone,  if  other  proofs  were  want- 
ing, would  firmly  fix  his  exalted  position  among  the  classics  of 
ancient  Greece.  Plutarch  tells  us  that  after  the  disastrous  defeat 
of  the  Athenians  before  Syracuse,  the  Sicilians  spared  those  who 
could  repeat  any  of  the  poetry  of  Euripides,  "Some  there  were," 
says  he,  "who  owed  their  preservation  to  Euripides.     Of  all  the 

35 


36  EURIPIDES 

Grecians,  his  was  the  muse  with  whom  the  Sicilians  were  most  in 
love.  It  is  said  that  upon  this  occasion  a  number  of  Athenians 
on  their  return  home  went  to  Euripides,  and  thanked  him  in  the 
most  grateful  manner  for  their  obligations  to  his  pen." 

Unlike  the  greater  number  of  the  brilliant  minds  of  that  day, 
Euripides  kept  himself  aloof  from  politics,  and  spent  the  greater 
part  of  his  life  in  his  library,  immersed  in  the  pursuits  of  litera- 
ture. The  king  of  Macedonia.  Archelaus,  a  patron  of  letters,  in- 
vited the  poet  to  his  court  at  Pella,  and  there  he  spent  the  re- 
mainder of  his  days.  Upon  his  death,  the  highest  honors  were 
paid  to  his  memory,  by  order  of  the  king.  Archelaus  erected  a 
monument  to  him,  bearing  the  inscription :  "Never,  0  Euripides, 
will  thy  memory  be  forgotten!"  The  Athenians  were  anxious  to 
remove  his  remains  to  Athens,  but  their  request  was  denied. 
They  then  erected  to  his  memory  at  Athens  a  cenotaph  bearing 
this  inscription:  "All  Greece  is  the  monument  of  Euripides; 
Macedonian  earth  covers  but  his  bones."  Lycurgas,  the  orator, 
erected  a  statue  to  him  in  the  theatre,  Sophocles,  still  surviving, 
publicly  lamented  his  death,  and  all  Athens  made  tardy  amends 
for  the  neglect  of  the  great  dramatist  during  his  life. 

Tradition  accredits  Euripides  with  the  authorship  of  ninety 
plays,  but  eighteen  of  which  survive.  He  has  found  imitators 
and  admirers  in  both  ancient  and  modern  times,  and  his  work  has 
profoundly  influenced  the  drama  in  England,  Germany  and 
France.  None  of  the  ancient  dramatists  has  been  more  exten- 
sively honored  by  modern  editions,  such  as  those  in  Germany  by 
Kirckhoff,  Nauck,  Prinz  and  Wecklein,  Nestle,  and  Schwartz;  in 
England,  by  Terrell,  Verrall,  Jerram,  Way,  Mahaffy  and  Cole- 
ridge; and  in  France  by  Decharme  and  others. 

Following  are  some  of  his  best  known  sayings: 

"To  be  modest  and  pay  reverence  to  the  gods;  this  I  think 

to  be  the  most  honorable  and  the  wisest  thing  for  mortals." 
"The  worst  of  all  diseases  among  men  is  impudence." 
"Courage  profits  man  naught,  if  God  denies  His  aid." 
"That  is  the  noble  m.an,  who  is  full  of  confident  hopes;  the 

jibject  soul  despairs." 


EURIPIDES  37 

"Silence  and  modesty  are  the  best  ornaments  of  a  woman, 
r.nd  to  remain  quietly  within  the  house." 

"The  woman  who,  in  her  husband's  absence,  seeks  to  set  her 
beauty  forth,  mark  her  as  a  wanton ;  she  would  not  adorn  her  per- 
son to  appear  abroad  unless  she  was  inclined  to  ill." 

Here  is  a  particularly  fine  passage  on  the  marks  of  true  no- 
bility :  ' 

"There  is  no  outward  mark  to  note  the  noble,  for  the  inward 
oualities  of  man  are  never  clearly  to  be  distinguished.  I  have 
often  seen  a  man  of  no  worth  spring  from  a  noble  sire,  and  worthy 
children  arise  from  vile  parents,  m.eanness  grovelling  in  the  rich 
man's  mind  and  generous  feelings  in  the  poor.  How,  then,  shall 
we  discern  and  judge  aright?  By  wealth?  we  shall  make  use  of  a 
bad  criterion.  Shall  it  be  by  arms?  But  who,  by  looking  to  the 
spear,  could  thereby  discern  the  dauntless  heart?  Will  ye  not 
learn  to  judge  the  man  by  manners  and  by  deeds?  For  such  men 
as  these  discharge  their  duties  with  honor  to  the  state  and  to 
their  house.  Mere  flesh  without  a  spirit  is  nothing  more  than 
statues  in  the  forum.  For  the  strong  arm  does  not  abide  the 
shock  of  battle  better  than  the  weak ;  this  depends  on  nature  and 
an  intrepid  mind." 


IV. 
HOMER. 

Seven  cities  vied  for  Homer's  birth  with  emulation  pious; 
Salamis,  Samos,  Calaphon,  Rhodes,  Argos,  Athens,  Chios. 

— Greek  Anthology. 

The  preponderance  of  legendary  history,  however,  indicates 
that  Smyrna  was  the  birthplace  of  Homer.  There  are  tales,  also, 
•that  he  was  blind;  and  that  he  was  a  roving  minstrel,  singing 
ballads  and  begging,  as  he  wandered  from  place  to  place.  There 
are  no  positive  biographical  facts.  Even  his  very  existence  has 
been  doubted  by  a  formidable  school  of  German  critics,  headed 
by  Professor  Frederick  Wolf,  of  Halle.  But  the  "Illiad"  exists. 
So  does  the  Odyssey.  They  constitute  Homer,  and  are  all  that 
we  really  know  of  Homer,  at  this  hour.  The  work  is  there.  It 
speaks  for  itself.  Whether  it  is  but  a  skillful  compilation  of  still 
older  ballads,  it  boots  us  not  to  inquire.  Homer  today  is  just  as 
we  found  him  at  the  dawn  of  Grecian  civilization.  If  we  except 
the  Bible  and  the  Veddas,  he  is  the  most  ancient  book  in  the  world. 
He  has  supplied  for  all  ages  the  one  grand  model  of  the  epic  poem, 
and  his  work  is  the  comm.on  heritage  of  the  human  race. 

Translations  of  Homer  exist  in  all  the  great  modern  lan- 
guages. Among  the  m.ost  admired  have  been  those  of  Cesarotti 
&nd  Monti  in  Italian,  that  of  Montbel  in  French,  that  of  Voss  in 
German,  and  those  of  Pope,  Chapman  and  Bryant  in  English. 
But  the  sonorous  fluency  and  vehement  fire  of  Homer  have  never 
been  adequately  portrayed  in  any  other  tongue.  As  Prof.  Blair 
of  Edinburgh  declared:  'T  know  indeed  no  author  to  whom  it  is 
more  difficult  to  do  justice  in  a  translation,  than  Homer.  As  the 
plainness  of  his  diction,  were  it  literally  rendered,  would  often 
appear  flat  in  any  modern  language;  so,  in  the  midst  of  that 
plainness,  and  not  a  little  heightened  by  it,  there  are  everywhere 

38 


I 


HOMER  39 

breaking  forth  upon  us  flashes  of  native  fire,  of  sublimity  and 
beauty,  which  hardly  any  language,  except  his  own,  could  pre- 
serve. His  versification  has  been  universally  acknowledged  to  be 
uncommonly  melodious;  and  to  carry,  beyond  that  of  any  poet, 
a  resemblance  in  the  sound  to  the  sense  and  meaning." 

As  Lord  Bacon  said,  "The  best  part  of  beauty  is  that  which 
a  picture  cannot  express,"  just  so  true  is  it  that  the  celestial  fire 
of  Homer  defies  the  translator's  art.  Thus,  the  nod  of  Jupiter, 
extolled  by  all  critics  as  one  of  the  noblest  examples  of  the  sub- 
lime in  writing,  is  literally  translated:  "He  spoke,  and  bending 
his  sable  brows,  gave  the  awful  nod ;  while  he  shook  the  celestial 
locks  of  his  immortal  head,  all  Olympus  was  shaken."  Pope 
translates  the  passage  as  follows: 

"He  spoke :  and  awful  bends  his  sable  brows, 
.     Shakes  his  ambrosial  curls,  and  gives  the  nod. 
The  stamp  of  fate,  and  sanction  of  a  god. 
High  heaven  with  trembling  the  dread  signal  took, 
And  all  Olympus  to  its  center  shook." 

Literally  translated  the  majesty  of  the  Homeric  concept  is  pre- 
served, but  its  exquisite  euphony  is  marred ;  while  Pope  clogs  the 
image  in  order  to  make  an  English  rhyme. 

These  difficulties  and  these  differences,  although  they  may 
dismay,  vv1ll  not  surprise  us  if  we  but  bear  in  mind  that  Homer, 
when  he  plumed  himself  for  his  matchless  eagle  flight  to  the 
golden  peaks  of  song,  garbed  his  glowing  thoughts  in  the  most 
musical  language  that  ever  rippled  from  the  human  tongue  or 
dropped  its  fructifying  svreetness  from  the  lips  of  man.  Yet, 
these  translations  often  do  contain  the  living  flame  of  genuine 
Homeric  fire.  Thus,  in  the  twentieth  book  of  the  Illiad,  where  all 
the  gods  take  part,  we  read  again  from  Pope : 

"But  when  the  powers  descending  swelled  the  fight, 
Then  tumult  rose,  fierce  rage,  and  pale  aflfright: 
Now  through  the  trembling  shores  Minerva  calls, 
And  now  she  thunders  from  the  Grecian  walls. 
Mars,  hov'ring  o'er  his  Troy,  his  terror  shrouds 
In  gloomy  tempests,  and  a  night  of  clouds ; 


40  HOMER 

Now  through  each  Trojan  heart  he  fury  pours, 
With  voice  divine,  from  Illion's  topmost  towers — 
Above,  the  sire  of  gods  his  thunder  rolls, 
And  peals  on  peals  redoubled  rend  the  polls ; 
Beneath,  stern  Neptune  shakes  the  solid  ground, 
The  forests  wave,  the  mountains  nod  around ; 
Through  all  her  summits  tremble  Ida's  woods. 
And  from  their  sources  boil  her  hundred  floods: 
Troy's  turrets  totter  on  the  rocking  plain, 
And  the  toss'd  waves  beat  the  heaving  main. 
Deep  in  the  dismal  region  of  the  dead, 
Th'  infernal  monarch  rear'd  his  horrid  head. 
Leapt  from  his  throne,  lest  Neptune's  arm  should  lay 
His  dark  dominions  open  to  the  day 
And  pour  in  light  on  Pluto's  drear  abodes, 
Abhorr'd  by  men,  and  dreadful  e'en  to  gods. 
Such  v/ars  th'  immortals  wage;  such  horrors  rend 
The  world's  vast  concave  when  the  gods  contend." 
But  Homer  is  not  all  a  clash  of  arms  and  din  of  steel.     He 
not  only  runs  the  gamut  of  all  the  passions  known  to  man,  but 
in  sylvan  scenes  he  reflects  Nature's  rare  artistic  power,  and 
paints  with  most  entrancing  skill  the  sunset  and  the  dawn,  the 
calm  of  midnight  and  the  glory  of  the  stars.     Thus,  in  book  7  of 
the  Illiad: 

"Now  from  the  smooth,  deep  ocean-stream  the  sun 
Began  to  climb  the  heavens,  and  with  new  rays 
Smote  the  surrounding  fields." 

Or  in  book  8: 

"Now  deep  in  Ocean  sunk  the  lamp  of  light 

And  drew  behind  the  cloudy  veil  of  night." 
And  in  book  3  of  the  Odyssey : 

"But  when  Aurora,  daughter  of  the  dawn, 

With  rosy  lustre  purpled  o'er  the  lawn." 
Again,  there  is  the  storm  scene,  from  book  15  of  the  Illiad: 

"Bursts  as  a  wave  that  from  the  clouds  impends, 

And  swell'd  with  tempests  on  the  ship  descends. 

White  are  the  decks  with  foam ;  the  winds  aloud 


HOMER  ' '   '  ■"  41 

Howl  o'er  the  masts  and  sing  through  ev'ry  shroud : 
Pale,  trembling,  tir'd,  the  sailors  freeze  with  fears; 
And  instant  death  on  every  wave  appears." 
Now  let  us  contrast  the  tempest  with  this  peaceful  scene  of  lovely 
night  and  all  its  sylvan  beauty  and  pastoral  calm:     "As  when  in 
heaven  the  stars  around  the  glittering  moon  beam  loveliest  amid 
the  breathless  air,  and  in  clear  outline  appear  every  hill,  sharp 
peak  and  woody  dell;  deep  upon  deep  the  sky  breaks  open,  and 
each  star  shines  forth,  while  joy  fills  the  shepherd's  heart." 

"The  multitude  of  things  in  Homer  is  wonderful,"  says  Haz- 
lett — "the  splendor,  the  truth,  the  power,  the  variety."  As  Mat- 
thew Arnold  said,  "the  Homeric  poems  are  the  most  important 
poetical  monument  existing."  .To  the  ancient  Greek,  another 
critic  says,  "Homer  was  Bible,  Shakespeare,  Milton,  and  Domes- 
day Book  in  one."  All  poets  since  his  time  have  been  indebted 
to  Homer.  As  Pope  observes,  even  "the  periphrases  and  circum- 
locutions by  which  Homer  expresses  the  single  act  of  dying  have 
supplied  succeeding  poets  with  all  their  manners  of  phrasing  it." 

Says  Addison  (Spectator.  No.  417)  :  "Homer  is  in  his  province 
when  he  is  describing  a  battle  or  a  multitude,  a  hero  or  a  god. 
Virgil  is  never  better  pleased  than  when  he  is  in  his  elysium,  or 
copying  out  an  entertaining  picture.  Homer's  epithets  generally 
mark  out  what  is  great;  Virgil's,  what  is  agreeable.  Nothing 
can  be  more  magnificent  than  the  figure  Jupiter  makes  in  the  first 
IHiad,  nor  more  charming  than  that  of  Venus  in  the  first  Aeneid." 
But  Virgil  boldly  translated  whole  passages  from  Homer  and 
placed  them  in  the  Aeneid  as  his  own.  Homer's  work  is  original 
in  execution,  theme  and  concept.  Virgil,  Tasso,  Milton  and  the 
rest  have  had  their  models  by  which  to  work ;  but  Homer's  model 
was  Nature  alone,  and  without  human  pattern,  guide  or  compass, 
he  produced  the  greatest  epic  work  the  world  has  ever  known. 

As  old  Sir  John  Denham  said  so  long  ago,  in  his  "Progress  of 
Learning:" 

"I  can  no  more  believe  old  Homer  blind, 
Than  those  who  say  the  sun  hath  never  shined; 
The  age  wherein  he  Hved  was  dark,  but  he 
■    ,        Could  not  want  sight,  who  taught  the  world  to  see."  ^ 


V. 
PLATO. 

Aristocles,  afterwards  known  as  Plato,  "the  broad-browed," 
was  born  on  the  island  of  Aegina,  B.  C.  427,  and  died  at  Athens  in 
347  B.  C.  Through  his  mother  he  was  a  descendant  of  Solon, 
one  of  the  "Seven  Wise  Men  of  Greece,"  and  on  his  father's  side 
he  traced  his  lineage  from  Codrus,  one  of  the  early  kings  of 
Athens.  He  enjoyed  such  early  opportunities  as  a  comfortable 
fortune  could  provide,  and  in  his  youth  was  accomplished  in  all 
the  culture  of  the  times. 

Intellectually,  Plato  was  the  child  of  Socrates  and  the  parent 
of  Aristotle.  At  the  age  of  twenty,  upon  coming  under  the  spell 
of  the  master  mind  of  Socrates,  he  is  said  to  have  burned  all  the 
poems  he  had  written,  and  from  that  tim.e  forth,  for  the  remain- 
ing sixty  years  of  his  life,  his  capacious  mind  was  wholly  occupied 
with  the  profound  speculations  which  have  since  dazzled  the  world 
with  their  brilhancy  and  wielded  a  constantly  growing  influence 
upon  the  minds  of  men. 

He  remained  a  pupil  of  Socrates  until  B.  C.  399,  when  judicial 
murder  put  an  end  to  the  pure  and  noble  life  of  that  most  ma- 
jestic character  of  antiquity  and  destroyed  what  George  Henry 
liCwes,  in  his  History  of  Philosophy,  called  "the  grandest  figure 
in  the  world's  Pantheon:  the  bravest,  truest,  simplest,  wisest  of 
mankind,"  We  may  the  better  understand  the  feelings  of  Plato 
upon  being  thus  deprived  of  his  master,  when  we  read  the 
"Phaedo,"  detailing  the  events  of  Socrates'  last  day  on  earth,  and 
developing,  in  the  course  of  the  dialogue,  the  beautiful  doctrine 
of  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  Xenophon,  also  a  disciple  of 
Socrates  and  a  com.panion  of  Plato,  has  expressed  not  less  truly 
the  feelings  of  both  upon  that  most  pathetic  occasion,  in  the 
touching  and  tender  tribute  so  gracefully  set  forth  in  the  Memo- 
rabilia (iv.  7.) 

42 


PLATO  ^ ^  43 

Shocked  by  the  cruelty  and  crushed  by  the  ingratitude  and" 
bigotry  of  the  tyrants  who  then  ruled  Athens  in  the  name  of 
democracy,  Plato  departed  into  foreign  lands.  It  is  believed  that 
he  visited  every  country  in  which  learning  flourished  in  any  d^' 
gree.  He  delved  into  the  lore  of  the  Egyptians  and  studied  the 
philosophies  of  the  east.  His  itinerary  is  not  known  with  cer- 
tainty. But  it  is  known  that  he  was  absent  from  Athens  a  great 
deal  during  the  ten  years  following  the  death  of  Socrates.  In  the 
course  of  his  peregrinations,  Plato  visited  Dionysius  the  Elder, 
tyrant  of  Syracuse.  The  tyrant  caused  him  to  be  sold  into 
slavery.     Plato,  however,  was  soon  ransomed  by  his  friends. 

Returning  finally  to  Athens,  in  the  fortieth  year  of  his  age, 
Plato  set  up  his  school  in  the  groves  of  the  Academia  and  began 
to  expound  his  dialectics  and  to  teach  the  immortal  doctrines 
which  still  encircle  his  name  with  a  halo  of  eternal  light.  To  this 
school  flocked  the  bright  minds  of  the  world.  Here  was  fashioned 
the  sinewy  intellect  of  Aristotle  and  here  was  moulded  the  mighty 
genius  of  Demosthenes. 

"Hither  as  to  a  fountain 
Other  suns  repair,  and  in  their  urns 
Draw  golden  light." 

Learning  of  Plato's  vast  renown,  Dionysius  of  Syracuse  wrote  to 
express  the  hope  that  the  philosopher  Vv'ould  not  think  ill  of  him, 
an(i  received  this  august  and  laconic  reply:  "Plato  hath  not 
leisure  to  think  of  Dionysius."  For  a  period  of  forty  years,  and 
until  death  ended  his  labors,  Plato  continued  to  write  and  teach. 
It  is  believed  that  all  his  writings  have  reached  us  unimpaired. 
"For  richness  and  beauty  of  imagination,"  says  one  of  the 
foremost  English  critics,  "no  philosophic  writer,  ancient  or  mod- 
ern, is  comparable  to  Plato.  The  only  fault  of  his  imagination  is, 
Fuch  an  excess  of  fertility  as  allows  it  sometimes  to  obscure  his 
judgment.  It  frequently  carries  him  into  allegory,  fiction,  enthu- 
siasm, and  the  airy  regions  of  mystical  theology.  The  philoso- 
pher is,  at  times,  lost  in  the  poet.  But  whether  we  be  edified 
with  the  matter  or  not  (and  much  edification  he  often  affords), 


44  PLATO 

we  are  always  entertained  with  the  manner;  and  left  with  a 
strong  impression  of  the  sublimity  of  the  author's  genius." 

Associated  with  Plato's  doctrine  of  immortality  was  his  doc- 
trine of  the  soul's  reminiscence,  a  subconscious  recollection  of 
beauties  contemplated  in  the  pre-earthly  existence,  a  thought 
most  beautifully  expressed  in  Wordsworth's  ode  on  "Intimations 
of  Immortality": 

"Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting: 
The  Soul  that  rises  with  us,  our  life's  Star, 
Hath  had  elsewhere  its  setting, 

And  Cometh  from  afar: 
Not  in  entire  forgetfulness, 

And  not  in  utter  nakedness, 
But  tracing  clouds  of  glory  do  we  come 
From  God  who  is  our  home." 

The  writings  of  Plato  not  only  exercised  great  influence  upon  such 
minds  as  those  of  Cicero  and  Plutarch,  followers  of  "the  vision 
splendid"  in  ancient  times,  but  they  profoundly  affected  the  Stoics 
as  well  as  the  early  Christian  Fathers,  and  cast  their  mystic  spell 
far  into  future  ages,  where  we  find  their  indelible  Impress  upon 
much  of  the  world's  best  literature.  One  cannot  proceed  far,  in 
either  literature  or  philosophy,  without  encountering  the  massive 
intellect  and  the  golden  eloquence  of  Plato.  Thus  do  we  find  it 
reflected  in  Addison's  "Cato",  Act  V.,  Sc.  I :  ' 

"It  must  be  so — Plato,  thou  reasonest  well. — 

Else  whence  this  pleasing  hope,  this  fond  desire, 

This  longing  after  immortality? 

Or  v/hence  this  secret  dread,  and  inward  horror, 

Of  falling  into  naught?    Why  shrinks  the  soul 

Back  on  herself,  and  startles  at  destruction? 

'Tis  the  divinity  that  stirs  within  us ; 

'Tis  heaven  itself  that  points  out  an  hereafter, 

And  intimates  eternity  to  man." 


PLATO  45 

Plato  is  greatest  in  his  metaphysics.  He  has  been  aptly  called 
*'the  Shakespeare  of  ideas."  He  is  not  so  happy  in  the  political 
wriirings  of  his  later  years.  He  totally  misconceived  the  duties 
of  citizenship  and  the  proper  functions  of  the  state.  Mr.  Grote 
thinks  that  he  borrowed  much  of  his  "Republic"  from  the  Spartan 
constitution  of  Lycurgas.  He  would  have  done  far  better  to  have 
elaborated  the  work  of  his  own  great  ancestor,  Solon,  in  the  con- 
stitution of  Athens.  Of  these  later  works  we  can  only  observe, 
with  Prof.  Jowett:  "The  wings  of  his  imagination  have  begun 
to  droop,  but  his  experience  of  life  remains,  and  he  turns  from  the 
contemplation  of  the  eternal  to  take  a  last  sad  look  at  human 
affairs."  Plato's  "Republic"  was  the  natural  progenitor  of  More's 
"Utopia,"  Bacon's  "New  Atlantis,"  Harrington's  "Oceana,"  and 
Campanella's  "City  of  the  Sun." 


VI. 
PLUTARCH. 

The  exact  dates  of  the  birth  and  death  of  Plutarch  are  un- 
known, but  the  period  of  his  life  may  be  safely  approximated  at 
A.  D.  50  to  A.  D.  120.  Although  he  established  no  new  school  of 
thought,  and  although  his  style  of  composition  is  not  distinguished 
for  any  pecuhar  beauty  or  elegance,  he  is  nevertheless  one  of  the 
most  celebrated  writers  of  antiquity,  and  is  remarkable  for  his 
humane  principles  and  his  unsullied  moral  excellence. 

Plutarch  was  born  at  the  little  town  of  Chaeronaea,  and  spent 
his  last  days  there.  It  is  also  known  that  he  was  entrusted  with 
a  diplomatic  mission  to  Rome,  and  resided  for  some  time  at  that 
great  capital,  where,  in  the  time  of  Domitian,  he  delivered  lectures 
on  philosophy.  There  is  a  report,  doubted  by  many,  but  beheved 
by  Langhorne  and  others,  that  he  was  tutor  to  the  emperor 
Trajan.  Certainly  the  humane  traits  of  that  excellent  prince 
would  suggest  naught  against  the  supposition.  It  is  definitely 
known,  however,  that  Plutarch's  nephew,  Sextus,  was  a  preceptor 
of  the  great  Marcus  Aurelius,  who  publicly  acknowledged,  in  his 
"Meditations,"  his  indebtedness  to  that  philosopher,  in  terms  pe- 
culiarly applicable  to  Plutarch  himself. 

The  greater  part  of  the  wTitings  of  Plutarch  are  now  no 
longer  extant.  Of  those  that  remain,  civilization  is  chiefly  in- 
debted to  him  for  his  "Lives  of  Illustrious  Men." 

^  Among  all  the  biographical  works  ever  written,  in  either 
ancient  or  modern  times,  Plutarch's  Lives  will  easily  rank  first. 
No  writer  has  had  a  greater  influence  upon  the  youthful  mind. 
Alfieri  was  first  inspired  with  a  passion  for  literature  by  reading 
Plutarch's  Lives.  The  great  Napoleon  received  his  first  inspira- 
tion from  the  same  source.  He  has  been  accorded  the  highest 
praise  by  such  critics  as  Petrarch,  Montaigne,  St.  Evremont  and 
Montesquieu,  and  was  Montaigne's  favorite  author.  Sir  John 
Lubbock  places  Plutarch's  Lives  among  the  one  hundred  best 

46 


PLUTARCH  47 

books  which  should  be  in  every  library  and  read  by  every  person 
pretending-  to  any  degree  of  culture.  The  world's  literature  in  all 
ages  since  his  day  has  been  embellished  by  this  great  work. 

In  1579  Sir  Thomas  North  translated  the  Lives  from  a 
French  version  into  English,  and  this  work  beyond  all  doubt  fur- 
nished Shakespeare  with  the  materials  for  Coriolanus,  Timon  of 
Athens,  Julius  Caesar,  and  Antony  and  Cleopatra.  In  some  in- 
stances the  great  English  dramatist  has  appropriated  the  lan- 
guage of  Plutarch  almost  verbatim.  This  is  particularly  true 
of  his  "Julius  Caesar,"  and  also  of  his  "Coriolanus."  "The  Life 
of  Theseus,"  and  "The  Life  of  Pericles"  also  served  in  Shake- 
speare's Midsummer-Night's  Dream  and  in  Pericles. 

It  is  remarkable  ^ow  great  a  portion  of  our  knowledge  of  the 
illustrious  men  of  antiquity  is  drawn  from  Plutarch.  Thus,  Lord 
Bacon  says :  "One  of  the  Seven  was  wont  to  say :  'That  laws  were 
like  cob-webs;  where  the  small  flies  were  caught,  and  the  great 
break  through'."  But  none  of  the  Seven  Wise  Men  of  Greece 
ever  said  any  such  thing.  In  the  life  of  Solon,  Plutarch  records 
the  fact  that  while  the  great  Athenian  was  working  on  his  laws, 
he  was  visited  by  Anarcharsis,  the  Scythian,  and  "when  Anarch- 
arsis  heard  what  Solon  was  doing,  he  laughed  at  the  folly  of 
thinking  that  he  could  restrain  the  unjust  proceedings  and  avarice 
of  his  fellow  citizens  by  written  laws,  which,  he  said,  resembled 
in  every  Vv-ay  spiders'  webs,  and  would,  like  them,  catch  and  hold 
only  the  poor  and  weak,  while  the  rich  and  powerful  would  easily 
break  through  them."  Curiously  enough,  the  modern  v/orld,  fol- 
lowing Bacon,  has  quite  unjustly  attributed  this  Scythian  senti- 
ment to  Solon. 

Many  are  the  noble  sentiments  that  gleam  in  the  "Lives," 
as  well  as  in  the  "Mo/^als"  of  Plutarch.  Hovrever,  space  permits 
us  to  present  but  fev/r 

"It  is  m.ore  fitting  to  err  on  the  side  of  religion,  from  a  regard 
to  ancient  and  received  opinion,  than  to  err  through  obstinacy  and 
presumption." 


48  PLUTARCH 

r         -  •  • 

And  this,  on  education: 

"Men  derive  no  pfreater  advantage  from  a  liberal  education 
than  that  it  tends  to  soften  and  polish  their  nature,  by  improving 
their  reasoning  faculties  and  training  their  habits,  thus  producing 
an  evenness  of  temper  and  banishing  all  extremes." 

And  this,  on  statesmanship: 

"The  honest  and  upright  statesman  pays  no  regard  to  the 
popular  voice  except  v/ith  this  view,  that  the  confidence  it  pro- 
cures him  m.ay  facilitate  his  designs,  and  crown  them  with  suc- 
cess." In  other  words,  a  great  statesman  must  do  the  right  and 
just  thing,  whether  his  constituency  wish  him  to  do  so  or  not. 


VII.  "^ 

MENANDER.  ' 

Menander,  a  native  of  Athens  (born  B.  C.  342,  died  B.  C.  291), 
was  the  most  celebrated  poet  of  the  "new  comedy."  His  father 
was  a  famous  Athenian  general.  Menander  was  an  intimate 
friend  of  the  philosopher  Epicurus,  whose  teaching  was  reflected 
in  the  light-hearted,  sprightly  nature  and  frolicsome  disposition 
of  the  poet.  He  was  of  handsome  person,  gay,  and  fond  of  lux- 
ury, but  does  not  appear  to  have  been  grossly  addicted  to  the 
vices  of  his  time.  He  Vv^as  the  author  of  miore  than  a  hundred 
plays,  and  for  several  centuries  after  his  death  his  plays  were 
the  most  popular  among  the  Grecian  comedies. 

Menander  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  life  mingling  in  the 
swirl  of  Athenian  gaiety,  vv^hile  residing  at  his  villa  near  the 
city.  The  King  of  Egypt,  one  of  his  ardent  admirers,  extended 
to  him  a  pressing  invitation  to  reside  as  his  guest  at  the  Egyptian 
capital,  but  the  Greek  poet  preferred  his  own  care-free  life  to  the 
gilded  conventionality  and  soul-bought  largess  of  a  royal  court. 

Not  a  single  one  of  his  plays  has  survived  to  modern  times, 
but  we  may  form  some  conception  of  their  excellence  by  the  nu- 
merous imitations  afforded  us  in  the  plays  of  Plautus  and  Terence. 
Ancient  critics  extolled  the  writings  of  Menander  for  their  poetic 
artistry,  refined  wit  and  sententious  humor;  and  for  his  grasp 
of  human  nature,  and  the  purity  of  his  moral  concepts.  More 
than  a  thousand  fragments  of  his  vv^orks  have  come  down  to  us, 
and  they  in  no  wise  detract  from  the  esteem  in  which  we  are  con- 
strained to  hold  him  because  of  the  laudations  of  ancient  authori- 
ties. 

We  are  indebted  to  German  scholarship  for  the  best  extant 
editions  of  the  ''Fragments" :  one  by  Meineke  (Berlin,  1841)  and 
the  other  by  Kock  (Leipzig,  1888). 

Menander's  incisive  wit  is  aptly  set  forth  in  his  dealings  with 
the  "eternal  feminine,"  as  when  he  says : 

40 


50  MENANDER 

"Happy  am  I  who  have  no  wife!"  Or,  this:  "Where  are 
women,  there  are  all  kinds  of  mischief."  And  this:  "The  wife 
ought  to  play  the  second  part,  the  husband  rulincr  in  everything ; 
for  there  is  no  family  in  which  the  wife  has  had  the  upper  hand, 
which  has  not  gone  to  ruin." 

Elsewhere  he  says:  "To  marry  a  wife,  if  we  regard  the 
truth,  is  an  evil,  but  it  is  a  necessary  evil.''  How  suggestive, 
this,  of  St,  Chrysostom's  description  of  woman  as  "a  necessary 
evil,  a  natural  temptation,  a  desirable  calamity,  a  domestic  peril, 
a  deadly  fascination  and  a  painted  ill !"  And  of  the  outburst  of 
honest  old  Thomas  Otway,  in  "The  Orphan",  (Act  iii.,  Sc.  1) : 

"What  mighty  ills  have  not  been  done  by  woman! 
WTio  was't  betray'd  the  Capitol  ?    A  woman ; 
Who  lost  Mark  Antony  the  world  ?    A  wom.an ; 
Who  was  the  cause  of  a  long  ten  years'  war, 
And  laid  at  last  old  Troy  in  ashes  ?    Wom.an ; 
Destructive,  damnable,  deceitful  woman!" 

In  the  same  spirit  did  Milton  cry  out  in  the  anguish  of  his  heart 
(Paradise  Lost,  Bk.  ix.,  1.  888) : 

"Oh,  why  did  God, 
Creator  wise,  that  peopled  highest  Heaven 
With  spirits  masculine,  create  at  last 
This  novelty  on  earth,  this  fair  defect 
Of  nature,  and  not  fill  the  world  at  once 
With  men  as  angels  without  feminine, 
Or  find  some  other  way  to  generate 
Mankind  ?    This  mischief  had  not  then  befallen." 

Following  his  anti-feminine  bent,  Menander  also  observed  that 
"A  daughter  is  an  embarrassing  and  ticklish  possession."  Per- 
haps he  gave  the  cue  to  Sheridan  (The  Duenna,  Act  i.,  sc.  3) : 


MENANDER  51 

"If  a  daughter  you  have,  she's  the  plague  of  your  life; 
No  peace  shall  you  know,  though  you've  buried  your  wife! 
At  twenty  she  mocks  at  the  duty  you  taught  her — 
Oh,  what  a  plague  is  an  obstinate  daughter!" 

In  another  fragment  Menander  pursues  the  same  thought:  "A 
wise  son  is  a  delight  to  his  father,  while  a  daughter  is  a  trouble- 
some possession."  And  then  he  adds:  "Of  all  wild  beasts  on 
earth  or  in  sea,  the  greatest  is  a  woman." 

But  Menander  did  not  write  solely  to  provide  texts  for  the 
mysogonists.  Passing  from  the  contemplation  of  sentiments  so 
little  promotive  of  marital  felicity  and  dom.estic  concord,  we  find 
our  poet  gifted  with  a  wealth  of  wisdom  denied  to  many  minds  of 
more  sober  hue.     Thus,  he  says : 

"Evil  communications  corrupt  good  manners" — a  phrase  we 
afterwards  find  in  the  New  Testament. 

"No  just  man  has  ever  become  suddenly  rich." 

"It  does  not  become  any  living  man  to  say,  'This  will  not  hap- 
pen to  me'." 

"Every  wise  and  honorable  man  hates  a  lie." 

"Nothing  is  more  useful  to  a  man  than  silence." 

"Whosoever  lends  a  greedy  ear  to  a  slanderous  report  is  either 
himself  of  a  radically  bad  disposition,  or  a  mere  child  in  sense." 

"How  pleasant  a  thing  it  is  for  brothers  to  dwell  together  in 
unity" — almost  the  exact  words  of  the  133rd  Psalm:  "Behold, 
how  good  and  hov/  pleasant  it  is  for  brethren  to  dvv^eli  together  in 
unity !" 

"It  is  the  mind  that  ought  to  be  rich ;  for  the  riches  of  this 
world  only  feed  the  eyes,  and  serve  merely  as  a  veil  to  cover  the 
realities  of  hfe." 

That  Menander  knew  something  about  the  science  of  health 
preservation  is  evident  from  the  follovving: 

"The  plague  dwells  where  sanitary  laws  are  neglected." 


b2  MENANDER 

Menander  won  the  prize  in  comedy  at  the  age  of  twenty-one, 
and  achieved  seven  similar  triumphs  during  his  dramatic  career. 
He  was  fond  of  athletic  sports,  and  was  drowned  while  swimming 
in  the  harbor  of  the  Pireaeus.  Menander  loved  the  country  life, 
and  it  was  a  great  saying  of  his  that  "Men  are  taught  virtue  and 
love  of  independence  by  living  in  the  country." 

Finally,  he  was  not  oblivious  of  the  lesson  of  mortality:  "If 
thou  wishest  to  know  what  thou  art,  look  at  the  monuments  of 
the  dead  as  thou  passest  along  the  road ;  there  thou  wilt  find  the 
bones  and  light  dust  of  kings,  and  tyrants,  and  v/ise  men,  and  of 
those  who  prided  themselves  on  their  blood  and  riches,  on  their 
glorious  deeds,  and  on  the  beauty  of  their  persons;  but  none  of 
these  things  could  resist  the  power  of  time.  All  men  have  a 
common  grave.  Looking  at  these  things,  thou  mayest  know  what 
thou  art."  Yea,  verily !  As  it  is  written  in  the  Book  of  Genesis 
(iii:19) — "For  dust  thou  art,  and  unto  dust  shalt  thou  return." 


VIII. 
PINDAR. 

It  is  related  by  Plutarch,  in  his  Life  of  Al'^xander  the  Great, 
that  when  Thebes  fell  before  his  conquering  arms  only  the  house 
of  Pindar  was  spared,  and  thus  did  the  poet's  posterity  escape  the 
wholesale  destruction  visited  upon  their  city;  so  great  was  Alex- 
ander's veneration  of  the  memory  of  the  Theban  poet.  The 
Spartan  soldiery,  noted  for  implacable  cruelty,  had  already,  on  a 
previous  occasion,  shown  by  their  forbearance  the  same  pious 
regard  for  the  inspired  Theban. 

Thus  was  impressed  upon  the  ancient  mind  the  fame  of 
Pindar,  the  father  of  lyric  poetry.  He  was  born  at  or  near  Thebes, 
B.  C.  522,  and  died  B.  C.  442.  He  was  educated  in  music  and 
poetry,  and  showed  greit  talent  at  an  early  age.  An  old  Grecian 
legend  recites  that  in  his  youth  a  swarm  of  bees  alighted  upon  his 
lips,  attracted  by  the  sweetness  that  was  soon  to  richly  trickle 
forth  its  honeyed  harmonies  of  entrancing  verse.  Pindar  drank 
deeply  of  the  pure  Pierian  spring,  and  soared  on  golden  wing  unto 
the  highest  pinnacle  of  song.  His  praises  were  sounded  by  such 
eminent  masters  as  Cicero  and  Pausanias.  Plato  called  him  the 
"divine  Pindar,"  and  distinguished  him  by  the  epithet  "most 
wise."  Clement  of  Aluxandria,  one  of  the  early  Christian  Fa- 
thers, declared  him  to  have  been  well  versed  in  the  Hebrew  Scrip- 
tures. Pindar  was  contemporary  with  Aeschylus,  and  shared, 
with  that  great  master  of  Greek  tragedy,  the  v/arm  personal 
friendship  of  King  Hiero  of  Syracuse,  at  whose  court  he  resided 
for  four  years.  Of  the  golden  treasury  of  verse  created  by  his 
magic  pen,  only  the  "I'riumphal  Odes"  have  reached  our  times. 
Of  all  his  paeans,  odes  and  hymns,  which  smote  the  ear  of  an- 
tiquity with  the  voice  of  a  god  and  trembled  away  into  the  silence 
of  the  ages,  the  greater  nart  are  lost ;  but  the  dying  echo  of  his 
silver-throated  trump  still  lingers  in  such  lines  as  these,  describ- 

53 


54  PINDAR 

ing  the  islands  of  the  blessed,  in  the  Second  Olympic  Ode : 

"But  they  whose  spirit  thrice  refined 
Each  arduous  conquest  could  endure, 
And  keep  the  firm  and  perfect  mind 

From  all  contagion  pure; 
Along  the  stated  path  of  Jove 
To  Saturn's  royal  courts  above 

Have  trod  their  heavenly  way 
Where  round  the  islands  of  the  bless'd 

The  ocean  breezes  play; 
There  golden  flow'rets  ever  blow, 
Some  springing  from  earth's  verdant  breast, 
These  on  the  lonely  branches  glow, 
While  those  are  nurtured  by  the  waves  below. 
From  them  the  inmates  of  these  seats  divine 
Around  their  hands  and  hair  the  woven  garlands  twine." 

In  his  translations  Pindar  has  not  been  so  fortunate  as  have 
others  among  the  Greek  classics.  Among  the  most  elaborate  of 
modern  criticisms  is  the  profound  and  scholarly  work  of  Schmidt, 
in  German,  and  the  brilliant  essay  of  Villemain,  in  French. 
Among  the  most  successful  English  translations  are  those  of 
Carey,  Abraham  Moore,  Morice,  and  Baring.  Pindar  has  had 
many  imitators  among  both  the  ancients  and  the  moderns.  The 
Pindaric  Odes  of  Thomas  Gray  are  the  purest  specimens  of  their 
kind  in  English.  The  many  attempts  among  the  Latins  to  imi- 
tate Pindar  were  deprecated  by  wise  old  Horace,  who  said,  in  his 
"Carmina:" 

"He  who  studies  to  imitate  the  poet  Pindar,  0  Julius,  relies 
on  artificial  wings,  fastened  on  with  wax." 

Horace  thus  enumerates  the  numerous  themes  upon  which 
the  prolific  muse  of  Pindar  was  employed: 


PINDAR  55 

/ 

"Whether  th'  immortal  gods  he  sings 

In  a  no  less  immortal  strain, 
Or  the  great  acts  of  god-descended  kingS; 

Who  in  his  numbers  still  survive  and  reign ; 
Whether  in  Pisa's  race  he  please 
To  carve  in  poKsh'd  verse  the  conqueror's  image ; 
Whether  some  brave  man's  untimely  fate 
In  words  worth  dying  for  he  celebrate ; 
Such  mournful  and  such  pleasing  words. 
As  joy  to  his  mother's  and  his  mistress'  grief  affords." 

The  quotation  is  from  the  ode  of  Horace  beginning  "Pin- 
darum  quisquis,"  etc.,  and  the  translation  is  by  Cowley. 

Pindar  was  probably  the  premier  panegyrist  of  all  history. 
His  fame  extended  throughout  all  the  Hellenic  states,  and  by 
every  great  city  and  state  he  was  called  upon  to  compose  the 
choruses,  hymns  and  triumphal  odes  for  great  festive  occasions. 
And  therefore  Horace  quite  truly  says  that  many  ancient  kings 
who  would  otherwise  be  unknown  to  fame 

"*  *  *  in  his  numbers  still  survive  and  reign." 

In  concluding  this  sketch,  let  us  offer  one  Pindaric  phrase 
that  has  stood  the  test  of  twenty-five  centuries  and  is  still  true 
today :  'Tn  every  form  of  government  a  straight  forward,  plain- 
speaking  man  is  most  respected,  whether  it  be  a  despotism,  or 
tumultous  democracy,  ov  where  the  educated  few  hold  sway." 


IX. 
ANACREON. 

I  see  Anacreon  smile  and  sing; 
His  silver  tresses  breathe  perfume; 
His  cheeks  display  a  second  spring 
Of  roses,  taught  by  wine  to  bloom. 
Away,  deceitful  Care!  away. 
And  let  me  listen  to  his  lay. 

— Akenside,  Ode  XHL,  "On  Lyric  Poetry." 

Anacreon,  the  leading  amatory  poet  of  Greece,  and  one  of  the 
greatest  lyric  bards  of  all  time,  flourished  during  the  greater  part 
of  the  sixth  century  before  the  Christian  era,  and  was  contem- 
porary with  Cyrus  the  Great,  King  Polycrates  of  Samos,  and  Hip- 
parchus,  of  Athens.  He  was  a  native  of  Teos,  a  city  of  Ionia. 
It  is  said  that  by  the  captivating  strains  of  his  songs  he  softened 
the  heart  of  Polycrates  and  developed  in  the  tyrant  a  spirit  of 
kindness  toward  his  subjects.  Hipparchus,  the  Athenian  tyrant, 
said  by  Plato  to  have  been  the  first  to  edit  the  poems  of  Homer 
and  cause  them  to  be  sung  at  public  festivals,  heard  of  the  fame 
of  the  Ionic  bard  and  sent  a  galley  with  fifty  oars  to  bring  him 
across  the  Aegean  sea.  So  greatly  was  Anacreon  esteemed  in  his 
native  city  that  his  likeness  was  stamped  upon  the  coins ;  and  in 
Athens,  after  his  death,  a  statue  of  him  was  erected  at  the  Acro- 
polis. 

Only  a  few  of  the  odes  of  Anacreon  remain,  but  they  are  suf- 
ficient to  portray  the  enchanting  elegance  of  his  flowing  verse. 
Thomas  Moore  says,  in  the  preface  to  his  translation  of  the  "Odes 
of  Anacreon" :  "After  the  very  enthusiastic  eulogiums  bestowed 
both  by  ancients  and  moderns  upon  the  poems  of  Anacreon,  we 
need  not  be  diffident  at  expressing  our  raptures  at  their  beauty, 
nor  hesitate  to  pronounce  them  the  most  polished  remains  of 

56 


ANACREON  57 

antiquity.  They  are,  indeed,  all  beauty,  all  enchantment."  So 
speaks  one  of  the  great  masters  of  English  verse.  We  need  not, 
however,  seek  the  grand  conflagrations  of  Homer  in  the  love- 
Kparks  of  the  Teian  muse;  for,  as  he  himself  has  sung  in  the 
Second  Ode  (Moore's  translation)  : 

"Give  me  the  harp  of  epic  song-, 
Which  Homer's  finger  thrilled  along; 
But  tear  away  the  sanguine  string, 
For  war  is  not  the  theme  I  sing." 

Quite  to  the  contrary,  indeed,  we  find  him  ever  "dancing  to  the 
lute's  soft  strain,"  where  "purple  clusters  twine,"  and  "hyacinths 
sweet  odors  breathe,"  amid  the  "perfumed  gales  from  beds  of 
flowers,"  tuning  his  lyre  to  "love's  sweet  silver  sounds ;"  celebrat- 
ing "blithe  Bacchus,  the  generous  god  of  wine,"  or  "Venus,  love's 
sweet  smiling  queen,  rising  from  her  silver  sea,"  cheering  his  con- 
vivial votaries  with  "golden  goblets"  of  "rosy  wine,"  while  trilling 
forth  pulsating  symphonies  of  love. 

One  of  the  choicest  bits  of  lyric  art  is  his  Fifty-third  Ode, 
"On  the  Rose,"  from  which  are  culled  the  follovv'ing  familiar  lines 
(Bourne's  translation),  detailing  the  origin  of  the  poet's  favorite 
flower : 

"A  drop  of  pure  nectareous  dew 
From  heaven  the  bless'd  immortals  threw ; 
A  while  it  trembled  on  the  thorn. 
And  then  the  lovely  rose  was  born. 
To  Bacchus  they  the  flower  assign, 
And  roses  still  his  brows  intwinc." 

The  Fifth  Ode  of  Bourne's  translation  is  also  inspired  by  the  rose, 
which  he  describes  as  adding  "fresh  fragrance  to  the  wine;"  and 
then  the  poet  strikes  his  quivering  harp  and  warbles  forth  in  most 
exquisite  mood: 


58  ANACREON 

"Oh,  lovely  rose !  to  thee  I  sing, 
Thou  sweetest,  fairest  child  of  spring ! 
Oh,  thou  art  dear  to  all  the  gods. 
The  darling  of  their  bless'd  abodes. 
Thy  breathing  buds  and  blossoms  fair 
Entwine  young  Cupid's  golden  hair, 
When  gayly  dancing,  hand  in  hand. 
He  joins  the  Graces'  lovely  band." 

Anon  the  old  bard  laughs  at  himself  and  makes  merry  over 
his  advancing  age,  as  when,  in  the  Eleventh  Ode,  he  sings: 

"  'Anacreon',  the  lasses  say, 

'Old  fellow,  you  have  had  your  day',"  etc. 

In  the  Nineteenth  Ode  he  very  gravely  sets  foi^th  his  reasons  for 

drinking : 

"The  earth  drinks  up  the  genial  lains 
Which  deluge  all  her  thirsty  plains ; 
The  lofty  trees  that  pierce  the  sky 
Drain  up  the  earth  and  leave  her  dry ; 
Th'  insatiate  sea  imbibes,  each  hour, 
The  welcome  breeze  that  brings  the  show'r ; 
The  sun,  whose  fires  so  fiercely  burn. 
Absorbs  the  wave ;  and,  in  her  turn. 
The  modest  moon  enjoys,  each  night. 
Large  draughts  of  his  celestial  light. 
Then,  sapient  sirs,  pray  tell  me  why, 
If  all  things  drink,  why  may  not  I?" 

From  such  ribald  merriment  he  turns  to  sighs  of  tender  senti- 
ment and  rosy  love,  like  his  ode  "The  Dream,"  of  which  Madame 
Dacier  says  that  it  is  one  of  the  finest  and  most  gallant  odes  of 
antiquity,  and  has  been  greatly  admired  by  all  who  "rove  the 
flowery  paths  of  love." 


ANACREON  59 

How  like  the  mellow-throated  nightingale's  melodious  note, 
trilling  flute-like  from  some  scented  Lydian  grove,  are  the  sweet, 
seductive  measures  of  Anacreon,  with  all  his  lilting  levities,  pip- 
ing plaintively  his  tender  songs  of  love,  breathing  fragrance 
where  they  blov.%  murmuring  his  soft  Aeolian  sounds  through 
rosy  bowers,  or  in  the  fronded  shadow  of  the  trees,  where  yet 
the  loitering  Graces  love  to  linger  among  the  v/hispering  violets, 

and  wood-nymphs  dance  upon  the  sward !  Hf-  did  not  essay  the 
empyrean  heights  of  song,  buoyed  by  the  battle-trump,  to  revel 
in  the  conflicts  of  the  gods.  His  was  a  gentler  muse,  lulled  by  the 
breath  of  flutes,  seeking  the  sequestered  nooks,  frolicking  among 
the  flowers,  basking  with  the  satyrs  and  the  fauns,  luxuriating  in 
the  langour  of  the  lapping  wave,  titillating  among  the  fountains, 
lolling  in  blossoms,  or  sipping  nectar  from  the  silver  dews.  Frown 
upon  him  as  we  may,  deprecate  his  morals  as  v/e  must,  no  sweeter 
song  is  treasured  in  the  heart  than  that  which  beauty  purloins 
from  the  lips  of  youth ;  and,  so  long  as  men  are  men  and  maids 
are  maids,  youth  and  health  will  succumb  to  Anacreon's  subtle 
and  subduing  charm,  or  struggle  to  resist  hi?  soft,  bewitching 
spell.  He  is  a  living  flower  among  garlands  that  are  dead.  Gone 
is  the  muse  from  Hellas;  gone  are  the  dream  and  song;  gone  is 
the  haunting  sweetness  of  the  lute's  voluptuous  lay;  but  while 
aught  of  Anacreon  remains,  their  pictured  memories  will  forever 
glint  and  glow  along  the  golden  sands  of  Time. 


THEOCRITUS. 

Theocritus,  the  father  of  Greek  pastoral  poetry,  and  the  first 
great  artist  of  his  kind,  flourished  in  the  first  half  of  the  third 
century  B.  C.  He  was  born  in  Syracuse,  and  King  Hiero  II.  was 
his  friend.  But  his  great  patron  was  Ptolmey  Philadelphus,  King' 
of  Egypt,  the  founder  of  the  Alexandrian  Library.  We  have  no 
further  biographical  data  touching  his  career,  aside  from  the  fact 
that  some  thirty  Idyls  bear  his  name;  some  of  these,  no  doubt, 
being  spurious. 

To  the  student  of  literature,  Theocritus,  however  meager  his 
remains,  will  be  forever  treasured  as  the  founder  of  that  delight- 
ful school  of  poesy  which  has  enriched  all  the  languages  of  civili- 
zation with  its  placid  portrayal  of  country  life.  Theocritus  was 
followed  by  two  Greek  pastoral  poets,  Bion  and  Moschus.  But 
his  greatest  disciple  in  ancient  times  was  Virgil. 

In  his  Lectures  on  Rhetoric  and  Belles  Lettres,  Prof.  Blair 
observes  that  Theocritus  is  distinguished  for  the  simplicity  of  his 
feentiments;  for  the  sweetness  and  harmony  of  his  numbers,  and 
for  the  richness  of  his  scenery  and  description.  "He  is  the  origi- 
nal, of  which  Virgil  is  the  imitator.  For  most  of  Virgil's  highest 
beauties  in  his  Eclogues  are  copies  from  Theocritus;  in  many 
places  he  has  done  nothing  more  than  translate  him."  Theocritus 
followed  Nature;  whereas,  Virgil  followed  Theocritus.  From 
^^irgil  the  bucolic  motive  spread  to  Catullus  and  Horace,  and 
finally  through  all  the  languages  of  western  Europe. 

Dante,  Petrarch,  Giovanni  and  Boccaccio  led  the  Virgilian 
revival  in  Italy  in  the  fourteenth  century,  being  followed  in  the 
sixteenth  century  by  Tasso  and  Guarini,  all  of  whom  produced 
pastorals  patterned  after  the  ancient  classics.  In  France  the 
pastoral  ideal  culminated  in  the  **Astree,"  a  prose  romance  pub- 

60 


THEOCRITUS  61 

lished  in  the  seventeenth  century  by  d'Urife.  In  Spain  we  find 
its  rarest  triumph  in  the  "Galatea"  of  Cervantes,  and  in  Germany 
the  pastoral  reached  its  most  perfect  form  in  Goethe's  "Hermann 
und  Dorothea,"  which  harks  back  to  the  simplicity  and  purity  of 
Theocritus. 

In  England  the  pastoral  sprang  into  being:  under  the  magic 
touch  of  Edmund  Spenser,  in  the  Shepherd's  Calendar,  and  blos- 
somed into  the  full  fruition  of  its  undying  charms  in  the  works 
of  Fletcher,  Ben  Johnson  and  Shakespeare,  and  in  the  "Comus" 
and  "Lycidas"  of  John  Milton.  The  critics  are  not  partial  to  the 
pastorals  of  Pope  and  Ambrose  Philips,  published  early  in  the 
eighteenth  century.  In  more  recent  times,  the  traces  of  Theocri- 
tus are  readily  discernible  in  Tennyson's  "Dora"  and  "The  Miller's 
Daughter."  Thus  has  the  lay  of  the  Sicihan  shepherd  made  its 
pipings  audible  to  every  ear  attuned  to  the  harmonies  of  nature, 
through  all  the  great  languages  of  ancient  and  modern  times. 
In  whatever  tongue  he  speaks,  his  idyls  retain  their  pristine  fresh- 
ness to  the  present  hour.  What  rustic  scene,  for  example,  could 
be  more  truly  drawn  than  this : 

"Poplars  and  elms  above  their  foliage  spread. 
Lent  a  cool  shade,  and  wav'd  the  breezy  head ; 
Below,  a  stream  from  the  nymph's  sacred  cave. 
In  free  meanders  led  its  murm'ring  wave. 
In  the  warm  sunbeams,  verdant  shades  among, 
Shrill  grasshoppers  renew'd  their  plaintive  song; 
At  distance  far,  conceal'd  in  shades,  alone, 
Sweet  Philomela  pour'd  her  tuneful  moan ; 
The  lark,  the  goldfinch,  warbled  lays  of  love, 
And  sweetly  pensive  coo'd  the  turtle-dove; 
While  honey-bees,  forever  on  the  wing, 
Humm'd  round  the  flowers,  or  sipt  the  silver  spring; 
The  rich,  ripe  season  gratified  the  sense 
With  summer's  sweets,  and  autumn's  redolence. 
Apples  and  pears  lay  strew'd  in  heaps  around. 
And  the  plum's  loaded  branches  kiss'd  the  ground." 


C2  THEOCRITUS 

In  his  later  days  Theocritus  grew  dissatisfied  with  the  court 
of  Hiero,  and  retired  to  the  country,  where  the  remainder  of  his 
life  was  spent  in  contemplation  of  those  rural  scenes  which  his 
pen  has  preserved  with  a  fidelity  and  simplicity  so  often  imitated, 
io  rarely  equalled,  so  universally  admired,  and  forever  unsur- 
passed. He  it  was  who  vocalized  the  shepherd's  song  and  taught 
the  rustic  maid  to  speak  the  language  of  the  heart;  who  tinted 
the  wealth  of  nature  with  the  wonders  of  human  speech ;  and  he 
it  was  who  found,  two  thousand  years  before  great  Shakespeare's 
time, 

"*  *  *  tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks, 
Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  everything." 

As  James  Russell  Lowell  so  beautifully  said,  in  his  oration  on  the 
250th  anniversary  of  the  founding  of  Harvard  College:  "The 
gardens  of  Sicily  are  empty  now,  but  the  bees  from  all  climes 
still  fetch  honey  from  the  tiny  garden  plot  of  Theocritus." 


PART  THREE. 

GREAT  ITALIAN  AUTHORS 


I.  DANTE. 

II.  PETRARCH. 

III.  BOCCACCIO. 

IV.  TASSO. 

V.  ARIOSTO. 

VI.  BOIARDO. 

VII.  MICHELANGELO. 

VIII.  MACHIAVELLI. 

IX.  METASTASIO. 

X.  ALFIERI. 


Italy  is  still  the  privileged  land  of  nature  and 
humanity;  and  the  manly  pith  of  its  great  ages  is 
neither  degenerated  nor  dried  up.  Involved,  by  the 
irresistible  fall  of  the  old  world,  in  the  decay  of  the 
universal  empire  she  had  founded,  no  nation  upon 
earth  has  v^^ithstood  so  long  a  period  of  deposition 
w^ithout  debasement  and  dissolution.  Her  glory,  her 
religion,  her  genius,  her  name,  her  language,  her 
monuments  and  her  arts,  have  continued  to  reign 
after  the  fall  of  her  fortune  She  alone  has  not 
had  an  age  of  civil  darkness  after  her  age  of  mili- 
tary dominion.  She  has  subjected  the  barbarians 
who  conquered  her,  to  her  worship,  her  laws,  and  her 
civilization.  While  profaning,  they  submitted  to 
her;  though  conquerors,  they  humbly  besought  her 
for  kws,  manners  and  religion.  Nearly  the  whole 
continent  is  nothing  but  an  intellectual,  moral  and 
religious  colony  of  this  mother  country  of  Europe, 
Asia  and  Africa.  *  *  *  War,  policy,  literature,  com- 
merce, arts,  navigation,  manufactures,  diplomacy, 
all  emanated  from  Italy.  Her  names  resemble  those 
•etorni-,1  dynasties,  on  which  the  supremacy,  in  every 
region  of  the  human  mind,  has  been  devolved  by 
nature,  and  of  which  such  men  as  Sixtus  V.,  Leo  X., 
Cosmo,  Tasso,  Dante,  Machiavel,  Michael  Angelo, 
Raphael,  Petrarch,  Galileo,  Doria,  and  Christopher 
Columbus,  transmit  to  each  other,  even  at  this  day, 
the  scepter  that  no  other  nation  could  snatch  from 
their  privileged  race. 

— Lamartine. 


I. 

DANTE. 

Dante  Alighieri,  "father  of  Tuscan  literature,"  and  greatest 
cf  the  Itahan  poets,  was  born  in  Florence,  in  the  year  1265,  and 
died  at  Ravenna  in  the  year  1321,  aged  fifty-six  years  and  four 
months.  Aside  from  the  romantic  story  of  his  love  for  Beatrice,, 
little  of  his  early  life  is  known.  After  the  marriage  of  Beatrice 
to  another,  and  her  early  death,  the  poet  resolved  that  if  he  lived 
he  would  write  of  her  ''what  had  never  yet  been  written  of  any 
v.oman."  His  resolution  was  magnificently  carried  out  in  the 
Divinia  Commedia. 

Dante  was  now  past  twenty-five  years  of  age.  He  consoled 
himself  by  reading  philosophical  books,  which,  ho  says,  were  read 
by  him  with  great  difficulty.  Five  or  six  years  after  the  death 
of  Beatrice  he  married.  He  reared  four  children.  In  about  the 
year  1295  Dante  enrolled  himself  in  the  Guild  of  Physicians  and 
Apothecaries.  In  the  year  1300  he  entered  politics.  Here  his 
miseries  began.  He  was  an  upright  and  honest  citizen,  and  a 
zealous  and  fearless  advocate  of  civil  and  religious  hberty.  His 
first  public  employment  was  upon  a  diplomatic  mission.  In  the 
same  year  he  was  elected  to  one  of  the  highest  offices  in  the  gift 
r.f  the  city.  But  Florence,  like  the  other  petty  Italian  states  of 
the  time,  was  badly  disrupted  by  factional  strife.  The  most 
thorough  search  of  historical  records  has  demonstrated,  beyond 
peradventure,  that  Dante's  pubhc  life,  like  his  private  conduct, 
was  at  all  times  honest  and  clean.  Nevertheless,  while  he  was 
away  on  public  business,  leaders  of  a  rival  faction  seized  the  gov- 
ernment; and,  without  arraignment,  investigation  or  trial,  pro- 
ceeded to  convict  Dante  of  extortion,  peculation  and  malversation 
in  office,  and  levied  against  him  a  ruinous  fine,  besides  decreeing 
.'vanishment  for  two  years,  and  perpetual  disqualification  from 
office.     Dante  declined  to  recognize  the  vahdity  of  this  iniquitous 

63 


64  DANTE 

liecree,  and  a  second  sentence  was  pronounced  against  him,  order- 
ing him  to  be  burned  alive. 

Dante  remained  an  exile  for  the  remainder  of  his  life.  Never 
again  did  he  set  foot  upon  the  soil  of  his  native  city.  But  his 
enemies  were  never  able  to  capture  him  and  carry  out  their  in- 
famous designs  against  his  life.  We  are  unable  to  follow  the  dis- 
tressed and  persecuted  poet  in  his  wanderings,  but  we  know  that 
he  travelled  over  Italy  seeking  to  organize  expeditions  for  the 
relief  and  redemption  of  his  beloved  Florence  from  the  murderous 
band  of  ruffianly  marplots  who  had  gained  control  of  the  city. 
He  visited  various  cities  of  France.  Boccaccio  thinks  that  he 
visited  England  and  studied  at  Oxford ;  but  there  is  scant  evidence 
of  this.  He  finally  settled  at  Ravenna,  where  he  finished  his  im- 
mortal poem,  the  Divinia  Commedia,  in  one  hundred  cantos, 
divided  into  three  books,  the  Inferno,  the  Purgatorio  and  the  Para- 
diso.  The  poem  is  not  an  epic,  and  it  is  not  a  satire.  It  defies 
classification  in  the  ordinary  categories  of  verse.  It  is  the  soul 
of  Dante;  as  such.it  stands  and  weaves  its  mystic  spell.  The 
Commedia  is  published  in  over  three  hundred  editions,  in  every 
modern  language,  and  its  commentators  form  a  library.  Dante 
was  unknown  to  the  English-reading  public  until  about  one  hun- 
'h-ed  years  ago,  when  Carey's  translation  was  published,  in  1805-6. 
Even  Carey's  version  (still  the  most  popular  English  translation) 
^anguished  in  obscurity  for  several  years,  and  until  1818,  when  it 
\.as  warmly  praised  by  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  in  one  of  his 
London  lectures,  and  as  a  consequence,  the  work  sprang  into  im.- 
mediate  popularity. 

Soon  after  his  death,  when  the  matchless  dream  of  his  un- 
dying genius  was  the  sensation  of  the  hour,  and  the  world  of 
letters  was  worshipping  at  the  tomb  of  Dante,  his  countrymen 
began  to  show  every  honor  to  his  memory,  A  public  lectureship 
was  established  to  expound  his  poem,  and  Boccaccio  was  the  first 
lecturer.  Often  in  the  ages  that  have  since  cast  their  mantle 
of  oblivion  over  the  wicked  generation  which  so  shamefully  abused 
fheir  city's  noblest  son,  the  people  of  Florence  have,  without  avail, 
Fought  to  procure  from  Ravenna  the  ashes  of  the  poet — seeking 


DANTE  65 

the  poet's  ashes,  when,  as  Lowell  so  aptly  remarked,  if  they  had 
caught  the  poet  living  they  would  have  converted  his  body  into 
cinders.  Whereat  we  cannot  but  observe,  with  Byron  (Child 
Harold,  iv.,  St.  57) : 

"Ungrateful  Florence!  Dante  sleeps  afar, 
Like  Scipio,  buried  by  the  upbraiding  sliore." 
Whether  we  wander  in  the  hopeless  terrors  of  the  Inferno, 
sense  the  star-lit  beauties  of  the  Purgatorio,  or  contemplate  the 
serene  splendors  of  the  Paradiso,  we  must  conclude  that,  in  the 
v'hole  range  of  literature,  the  vast  creation  of  Dante  is  without 
precursor,  counterpart  or  progeny.  As  his  vision  of  heaven  re- 
flects like  a  mirror  the  supernal  gleam  of  the  gates  ajar,  just  so 
surely  does  his  dream  of  hell  show  forth  the  torments  of  the 
damned.  There  is,  there  was,  there  can  be,  no  other  of  its  kind. 
In  his  dark  dominion  Dante  rules  alone.  He  knows  no  partner  in 
Lis  hermit  sway.  Like  a  meteor  shot  from  eternity,  or  as  light- 
nings cleave  the  inky  blackness  of  a  storm-swept  sky,  his  lurid 
genius  lights  in  fitful  flashes  the  clouds  that  cover  it,  and  then 
goes  thundering  through  the  vastitudes  of  space,  in  an  orbit  all 
its  own,  rolling  like  a  planet  in  its  solitary  course.  In  the  Inferno 
v'e  find  no  Peri  knocking  at  the  gates  of  dawn,  seeking  entrance 
to  the  realms  of  light.  The  black  wings  of  his  imagination  are 
flapping  at  the  gates  of  doom.,  or  swooping  like  an  avenging  deity 
along  the  dread  Plutonian  shore,  where  Tartarean  caverns  re-echo 
a  myriad  groans  and  sighs,  rumbling  their  deep  diapason  of  hope- 
less, helpless  sorrow  in  that  dismal  concavity  of  endless  woe.  At 
the  unutterable  horror  of  such  scenes  the  heart  sickens  and  re- 
volts; and  yet,  drawn  by  the  spell  of  a  terror  so  subtle,  so  resist- 
less, so  profound  and  undefined,  we  must  turn  and  look,  and  look 
again.  And  then,  passing  from  the  blighted  regions  of  the 
damned,  anon  he  soars  aloft  on  pinions  of  eternal  light  to  sing 
his  deathless  song  of  Paradise — 

"As  some  tall  cliff  that  lifts  its  awful  form. 
Swells  from  the  vale  and  midway  leaves  the  storm. 
Though  round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds  are  spread 
Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head." 


66  DANTE 

Says  Dr.  Richard  Garnett  in  his  Italian  Literature:  '*He 
moves  through  life  a  great,  lonely  figure,  estranged  from  human 
fellowship  at  every  point,  a  citizen  of  eternity,  misplaced  and  ill- 
starred  in  time;  too  great  to  mingle  with  his  age,  or,  by  conse- 
quence, to  be  of  much  practical  service  to  it;  too  embittered  and 
austere  to  manifest  in  action  the  ineffable  tenderness  which  may 
be  clearly  read  in  his  writings;  one  whose  friends  and  whose 
thoughts  are  in  the  other  world,  while  he  is  yet  more  keenly  alive 
than  any  other  man  to  the  realities  of  this ;  one  whose  greatness 
impressed  the  world  from  the  first  and  whom  it  does  not  yet  fully 
know  after  the  study  of  six  hundred  years."  They  know  him 
best  who  fully  understand  the  scholastic  teachings  of  his  great 
contemporaries,  Albertus  Magnus,  Thomas  Aquinas  and  Duns 
Scotus.  The  nature  of  his  epic  style  is  apparent  from  the  Com- 
media,  as  Dante  and  Virgil  enter  the  infernal  gate: 

"All  hope  abandon,  ye  who  enter  here !" 
These  words  in  somber  color  I  beheld 
Written  upon  the  summit  of  a  gate. 

He  led  me  in  among  the  secret  things ; 
There  sighs,  complaints  and  ululations  loud 
Resounded  through  the  air  without  a  star, 
Whence  I,  at  the  beginning,  wept  thereat. 
Languages  diverse,  horrible  dialects, 
Accents  of  anger,  words  of  agony, 
And  voices  high  and  hoarse,  with  sound  of  hands, 
Made  up  a  tumult  that  goes  whirling  on 
Forever  in  that  air,  forever  black, 
Even  as  the  sand  doth  when  the  whirlwind  breathes. 

It  was  the  high  prerogative  of  this  super-spirit  to  pass  eter- 
nal judgment  on  the  souls  of  men.  The  audacity  of  the  concep- 
tion in  its  very  daring  is  sublime.  The  project,  lightly  essayed, 
would  have  been  an  impious  profanation.  It  almost  savored  of 
attempting  the  throne  of  the  Infinite.     Who  could  dare  to  hold 


DANTE  67 

y/ithin  his  hand  the  scales  of  eternal  justice?  None — none  but 
1  he  proud  and  melancholy  soul  of  Dante !  And  six  hundred  years 
of  human  thought  have  all  but  decreed  his  judgments  "just  and 
righteous  altogether."  Let  us  view  but  a  single  one  of  his  judg- 
ments; and  let  the  reader  answer  if  it  be  just  or  no: 

***  *  *  This  miserable  fate 

Suffer  the  wretched  souls  of  those  who  lived 

Without  praise  or  blame,  with  that  ill  band 

Of  angels  mix'd,  who  nor  rebellious  proved, 

Nor  yet  were  true  to  God,  but  for  tliemselves 

Were  only.  *  *  *  ,  !  ■ 

These  of  death 
No  hope  may  entertain ;  and  their  bhnd  hf  e 
So  meanly  passes,  that  all  other  lots 
They  envy.     Fame  of  them  the  world  hath  none, 
Nor  suffers;  mercy  and  justice  scorn  them  both. 
Speak  not  of  them,  but  look,  and  pass  them  by." 

—  ("Inferno,"  Carey's  Translation.) 

We  can  go  no  further  with  him  now,  but  must  leave  him,  with 
his  Virgil,  here.  But  the  reader  is  adjured  to  follow  where  he 
leads — up  the  holy  mount  of  the  Purgatorio,  and  with  Beatrice  to 
the  Promised  Land.  For,  as  Dean  Church  says,  "Dante  certainly 
did  not  intend  to  be  read  only  in  fine  passages — to  be  properly- 
understood,  and  properly  appreciated,  he  must  be  read  as  a  whole, 
and  studied  as  a  whole." 

In  fine,  we  may  conclude  with  Macaulay,  in  his  "Criticisms 
en  the  Principal  Italian  Writers : 

"The  style  of  Dante  is,  if  not  his  highest,  his  most  peculiar 
excellence.  I  know  nothing  with  which  it  can  be  compared.  The 
noblest  models  of  Greek  composition  must  yield  to  it.  *  *  *  I  have 
heard  the  most  eloquent  statesman  of  the  age  remark  that,  next 
to  Demosthenes,  Dante  is  the  writer  who  ought  to  be  most  atten- 
tively studied  by  every  man  who  desires  to  attain  oratorical  ex- 
cellence." 


II. 

PETRARCH.  _ 

Francesco  Petrarch,  father  of  the  Renaissance,  was  born  in 
1304  and  died  in  1374,  after  a  career  seldom  or  never  parallelled 
in  the  literary  annals  of  any  nation.  He  was  born  at  Arezzo  while 
his  father  was  an  exile  from  Florence.  Like  so  many  of  the 
Italian  literati,  young  Petrarch  was  intended  for  the  law,  but  his 
over-mastering  passion  for  classical  learning  carried  his  talents 
to  a  higher  court. 

Petrarch  wrote  more  in  Latin  than  in  Italian,  and  prided 
himself  chiefly  upon  his  "Africa,"  a  Latin  poem  in  hexameters, 
in  which  he  celebrated  the  adventures  of  Scipio  Africanus.  But 
H  is  his  sonnets  that  have  shed  imperishable  glory  upon  his  name. 
He  did  not  invent  the  sonnet,  but  he  furnished  a  model  which  has 
fcerved  as  a  pattern  for  all  succeeding  ages.  In  these  Italian 
works,  he  established  and  perfected  that  pure  and  elegant  Italian 
style  which  has  suffered  less  change  in  the  past  five  hundred  years 
than  it  had  experienced  in  the  single  century  preceding  him. 

"Dante  and  Petrarch  are,  as  it  were,"  says  Hallam  (Litera- 
ture of  Europe),  "the  morning  stars  of  our  modern  literature." 
After  Dante  Petrarch  was  the  real  creator  of  the  Italian  lan- 
guage. But  his  first  great  service  to  polite  learning  was  the  work 
of  discovering,  collating,  copying  and  translating  the  manuscripts 
of  the  ancient  classics,  a  labor  to  which  he  continuously  applied 
himself  with  the  most  passionate  ardour.  He  restored  classical 
^.ntiquity  to  Italy,  and  through  Italy  to  the  world.  Heeren,  the 
great  German  authority,  declares  that  the  remainder  of  the  ancient 
r^anuscripts  would  have  been  hopelessly  lost  if  Petrarch  had  not 
appeared  when  he  did.  He  is,  therefore,  beyond  question,  the 
restorer  of  polite  learning,  and  the  genuine  father  of  the  Renais- 
sance. He  caught  up  anew  the  fires  of  ancient  civilization,  and 
rekindled  them  in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen.     He  brushed 

68 


PETRARCH  69 

the  dust  from  the  crumbUng  monuments  of  antiquity,  and  re- 
vealed for  us  the  beauties  of  ancient  art ;  he  touched  the  moulder- 
ing manuscripts  of  a  bygone  age,  and  they  poured  forth  their 
golden  flood  of  eloquence  and  song  into  the  treasure-house  of 
modern  letters;  he  tore  aside  the  veil  of  literary  darkness  that 
had  for  centuries  beclouded  the  mind  of  man,  and  disclosed  to 
our  delighted  vision  the  sun-crowned  heights  of  Olympus. 

Petrarch  had  visited  the  seats  of  learning  in  Germany  and 
France,  and  enjoyed  a  wider  acquaintance  among  men  of  letters 
than  any  other  literary  man  of  his  time.  Chaucer  knew  him 
personally,  and  his  influence  upon  English  letters  was  immediate 
and  extensive.  Shakespeare  mentions  him  in  '"Romeo  and  Juliet." 
In  1570  we  find  Ascham,  in  "The  Scholemaster,"  voicing  the 
unique  complaint  that  the  people  of  England  had  begun  to  hold 
"in  more  reverence  the  triumphes  of  Petrarche  than  the  Genesis 
of  Moses ;  they  make  more  account  of  Tullies  oflice?  than  S.  Paules 
epistles;  of  a  tale  in  Bocace  than  a  storie  of  the  Bible."  Quite 
so,  indeed.  "These  bee  the  inchantementes  of  Circes,"  he  says, 
"brought  out  of  Italie  to  marre  mens  maners  in  England."  And 
old  Puttenham,  in  "The  Arte  of  English  Poesie  "  declares:  "In 
the  latter  end  of  the  same  king  (Henry  the  eight)  reigne,  sprong 
up  a  new  company  of  courtly  makers — who  having  travailed  into 
Italie,  and  there  tasted  the  sweete  and  stately  measures  and  stile 
€f  Dante,  Arioste,  and  Petrarche,  they  greatly  polished  our  rude 
and  homely  maner  of  vulgar  Poesie."  One  of  these  "courtly 
makers"  was  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  whom  Taine  calls  "the  English 
Petrarch  " 

But  there  is  no  English  Petrarch,  and  there  will  never  be. 
Ilis  sonnets  to  Laura  are  as  inimitible  as  are  the  sublime  creations 
of  Dante.  In  the  crucible  of  his  genius,  the  lambent  flame  of  an 
undying  love  becomes  a  supernal  passion,  with  all  dross  of  lust 
or  taint  of  grossness  or  sensuality  forever  purged  away.  Hallam 
says :  "It  has  never  again  been  given  to  man,  nor  will  it  probably 
be  given,  to  dip  his  pen  in  those  streams  of  etherial  purity  which 
have  made  the  name  of  Laura  immortal." 

Adored  throughout  Italy,  Petrarch  was  the  peculiar  divinity 


70  PETRARCH 

of  the  Florentines.  In  1540  the  Academy  of  Florence  was  insti- 
tuted for  the  sole  purpose  of  perfecting  the  Tuscan  language  by 
the  study  of  the  poems  of  Petrarch.  The  critics  of  the  period  set 
him  up  as  a  model  of  literary  perfection,  without  flaw  or  defect, 
and  he  v/as  worshipped  as  a  literary  idol.  Commentaries  were 
written  upon  almost  every  word,  and  whole  volumes  upon  a  single 
sonnet. 

Never  was  genius  so  amply  and  so  spontaneously  rewarded 
as  in  the  case  of  Petrarch.  He  numbered  among  his  friends  and 
patrons  the  famous  Colonni  famJly,  the  Visconti,  the  Carrara 
family  of  Padua,  the  Corregi  of  Parma,  king  Robert  of  Naples  and 
the  Doge  of  Venice.  Pope  Clement  VI.  conferred  upon  him  one 
tr  two  sinecure  benefices,  and  would  have  made  him  a  bishop  if 
lie  had  taken  holy  orders.  The  same  pontiff  offered  him  the 
post  of  apostolical  secretary,  and  the  offer  was  renewed  by  Pope 
Innocent  VI.  In  1340  he  was  invited  to  both  Rome  and  Paris  to 
receive  the  laurel  crown.  He  chose  Rome,  where.,  on  Easter  Sun- 
day, 1341,  he  was  solemnly  crowned,  amid  the  greatest  possible 
pomp  and  splendor.  Nothing  in  the  entire  history  of  Italy  re- 
flects a  finer  glory  upon  the  Italian  people  than  their  voluntary 
adulation  of  the  great  author  of  the  purest  love-poems  the  world 
has  ever  known. 

Much  has  been  written  upon  the  subject  of  Laura  and  of  the 
nature  of  the  poet's  attachment  for  her.  Byron  asks,  in  the  8th 
stanza  of  the  third  Canto  of  his  Don  Juan: 

"Think  you,  if  Laura  had  been  Petrarch's  wife, 
He  would  have  written  sonnets  all  his  life?" 

But  the  inquiry  scarcely  concerns  us  now.  The  Academy  of  Fer- 
rara,  after  full  investigation,  solemnly  decreed  the  Platonic  purity 
of  Petrarch's  devotion.  It  is  highly  probable  that  Laura,  while 
having  an  actual,  physical  basis  of  fact  (not  being,  as  some  have 
supposed,  a  mere  figment  of  poetic  imagination).,  was  in  the  con- 
ception of  Petrarch  more  of  an  ideal  personage,  in  the  nature  of 
a  feminine  abstraction,  like  Dante's  Beatrice,  Surry's  Geraldine, 
Sidney's  Stella,  or  Tasso's  Leonora, — not  women,  but  woman  in 
general — although  each  actually  existed  to  inspire  a  poet's  love. 


PETRARCH  -  "(l 

Boccaccio's  Maria,  to  be  sure,  must  be  placed  in  a  category  some- 
what less  Platonic.  Petrarch  was  not  a  skeptic  Hke  Boccaccio, 
but  throughout  his  career  firmly  professed  his  Christian  faith. 
It  is  not  our  proper  function  to  further  judge  his  morals  now. 
Enough  for  us  the  chastened  note,  the  subdued  pathos,  the  somber 
sweetness,  the  solemn,  penitential  beauty  of  the  song  he  sings : 

Yon  nightingale,  whose  strain  so  sweetly  flows, 
Mourning  her  ravished  young  or  much-loved  mate, 

A  soothing  charm  o'er  all  the  valleys  throws 

i^nd  skies,  with  notes  well  tuned  to  her  sad  state. 
—  (Sonnet  XLIIL,  'To  Laura  in  Death." 

Or  this,  from  his  "Triumph  of  Eternity" : 

Those  spacious  regions  where  our  fancies  roam, 
Pain'd  by  the  past,  expecting  ills  to  come, 
In  some  dread  moment,  by  the  fates  assigned, 
Shall  pass  away,  nor  leave  a  rack  behind ; 
And  Time's  revolving  wheel  shall  lose  at  last 
The  speed  that  spins  the  future  and  the  past: 
And,  sovereign  of  an  undisputed  throne, 
Awful  eternity  shall  reign  alone." 

And  thus  he  views,  with  Christian  fortitude,  the  end  of  all  (To 
Laura  in  Death,  Canzone  V.,  St.  6) : 

For  death  betimes  is  comfort,  not  dismay, 
And  who  can  rightly  die  needs  no  delay. 


III. 

BOCCACCIO. 

Giovanni  Boccaccio,  the  father  of  the  novel,  was  born  1313 
and  died  1375.  Gay,  garrulous,  amorous  old  Boccaccio,  the  sport 
of  passion  and  the  slave  of  lust !  He  can  now  hardly  be  read  in 
iinexpurgated  form ;  he  is  for  the  most  part  unfit  for  pubhcation 
at  the  present  time,  in  circles  where  moral  puritj  is  desired ;  but, 
for  all  that,  there  can  be  no  complete  knowledge  of  Italian  Htera- 
ture  without  at  least  a  partial  knowledge  of  Boccaccio.  Without 
question,  he  is  one  of  the  really  great  figures  of  Tuscan  litera- 
ture. Some  authorities,  indeed,'  place  him  as  the  third  great 
figure  of  Italian  literature,  outranked  by  none  but  Dante  and 
Petrarch.  The  remarkable  fluidity  of  his  purling  style,  swift, 
rapid  and  sparkling,  marks  him  as  the  creator  of  classic  Italian 
prose,  and  his  mother  tongue  owes  its  earliest  model  of  grace  and 
refinement  to  his  pen. 

His  love  affairs  were  as  numerous  as  they  were  discreditable. 
But  his  "Fiammetta,"  the  poetic  name  which  he  conferred  upon 
Maria,  daughter  of  King  Robert  of  Naples,  inspired  him  to  write 
his  "Filocopo,"  his  "Ameto,"  and  his  "Fiammetta,"  all  which 
were  designed  to  celebrate  her  charms.  He  wrote  many  stories 
and  poems,  and  a  life  of  Dante.  But  his  most  famous  work  is  the 
Decameron,  a  collection  of  one  hundred  tales.  He  imagines 
these  stories  as  being  related  by  a  party  of  ten  refugees  from 
The  plague  at  Florence.  He  also  wrote  a  history  of  the  plague, 
and  likewise  translated  many  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  authors  into 
Italian.  In  the  labor  of  discovering,  rescuing  and  translating 
ancient  manuscripts  he  was  almost  as  indefatigable  as  his  friend 
Petrarch,  under  whose  influence  he  fell  at  the  age  of  thirty-seven. 
He  seems  thereafter  to  have  abandoned  his  wayward  life,  and  to 
have  devoted  his  later  energies  to  the  purposes  of  a  serious 
scholarship.  Following  the  leadership  of  Petrarch  he  became  a 
leader  in  the  humanistic  revival  then  upon  its  upward  surge.     It 

72 


BOCCACCIO  73 

was  at  hi?  suggestion  that  Lorenzo  Pilato  made  the  first  trans- 
lation of  Homer  into  Latin. 

In  popularity,  the  collection  of  tales  in  the  Decameron  has 
never  been  surpassed  in  the  history  of  the  world's  literature.  It 
has  never,  indeed,  been  equalled  in  popularity,  if  we  except  Chau- 
cer's Canterbury  Tales ;  and,  as  is  well  known,  Chaucer  was  deeply 
indebted  to  Boccaccio,  as  were  Shakespeare,  Moliere,  Fontaine 
and  others.  It  appears  that  Boccaccio  fully  repented  of  the 
errors  of  his  youth.  Upon  the  advice  of  a  dyin^  priest,  he  was 
about  to  retire  from  the  world  and  join  a  monastic  order,  when 
he  was  dissuaded  from  this  course  by  his  friend  Petrarch. 

Boccaccio  was  highly  honored  by  his  admiring  countrymen 
of  Florence;  and  he  represented  his  people  upon  many  diplomatic 
missions.  The  object  of  one  of  these  missions  was  to  extend  to 
Petrarch  an  official  invitation  to  take  up  his  residence  in  Florence. 
But  the  highest  honor  his  city  ever  conferred  upon  him,  and  a 
most  fitting  dignity,  too,  was  bestowed  in  1373,  two  years  before 
his  death,  when  he  was  appointed  to  expound  the  "Divinia  Com- 
media"  of  Dante,  at  a  salary  of  one  hundred  golden  florins  per 
annum.  Had  his  life  been  spared  for  a  few  years  it  is  not  to  be 
doubted  that  his  lectures  upon  Dante  would  have  developed  into 
an  interesting  and  scholarly  work,  vastly  exceeding  in  value  much 
that  has  been  written  upon  this  most  glorious  product  of  the 
middle  ages.     But  his  fame  rests  upon  the  Decameron. 

"Among  many  views  in  which  this  epoch-making  book  may 
be  regar  led,"  says  F.  M.  Warren,  in  his  History  of  the  Novel 
Previous  to  the  Sixteenth  Century,  "is  that  of  an  alliance  between 
the  elegant  and  superfine  literature  of  courts  and  the  vigorous 
but  homely  literature  of  the  people.  Nobles  and  ladies,  accus- 
tomed to  far-fetched  and  ornate  compositions  like  the  'Filocopo', 
were  made  able  by  the  'Decameron'  to  hear  the  same  stories 
which  amused  the  common  people,  told  in  a  style  which,  too,  the 
uneducated  could  appreciate  and  enjoy,  but  purged  of  much  rough- 
ness and  vulgarity  and  told  in  the  only  clear,  forcible  prose  that 
had  yet  been  produced.  This  is  Boccaccio's  best  defense  against 
the  charge  of  licentiousness  which  has  been  so  misconstruingly 


74  BOCCACCIO 

laid  against  him.  He  markedly  did  not  write  for  the  purpose  of 
stimulating  the  passions,  but  reproduced  the  ordinary  talk  of 
moments  of  relaxation,  giving  it  the  attraction  of  a  pure  and 
classic  style."  All  which  may  be  true,  and  to  some  extent  is 
undoubtedly  true.  But,  none  the  less,  men  make  the  morals  of 
the  ages  in  which  they  live,  and  we  cannot  doubt  that,  had  Boc- 
caccio so  desired,  he  could,  without  detracting  from  their  literary 
beauty,'have  made  his  tales  as  pure  as  the  love-poems  of  Petrarch, 
a  product  of  the  same  age  that  gave  us  the  Decameron.  The  same 
age,  also,  gave  us  the  matchless  moral  philosophy  of  St.  Thomas 
Aquinas.  But  what  is  here  said  is  not  designed  to  in  anywise 
question  the  literary  value  of  Boccaccio  nor  his  position  as  not 
only  the  founder  of  the  novel,  but  the  greatest  novelist  of  Italy 
up  to  the  lime  of  Allesandro  Mansoni,  who  died  in  1873,  and  whose 
"I  Promessa  Sposi"  is  doubtless  better  known  today  than  any 
Italian  book  since  the  Divine  Comedy,  and  remains  to  this  day 
as  the  greatest  romance  of  Italian  prose. 


TASSO. 

Torquato  Tasso,  the  greatest  epic  poet  of  the  modern  ages, 
was  born  at  Sorrento,  Naples,  in  1544,  and  died  at  the  monastery 
of  St.  Onofrio,  in  Rome,  in  1595.  His  father,  a  poet  of  respectable 
lalents — and  not  without  the  temporal  misfortunes  which  so  often 
attend  such  distinction — destined  young  Torquato  for  the  law. 
But  the  youthful  poet,  while  outwardly  engrossed  with  his  legal 
studies,  was  secretly  occupied  with  the  composition  of  his  "Rinal- 
do,"  a  romantic  poem  in  twelve  cantos,  which  was  received  with 
incredible  applause  throughout  Italy.  Tasso  had  not  then  at- 
tained his  eighteenth  year.  In  one  of  the  closing  stanzas  of  the 
piece,  he  thus  alludes  to  his  youth,  and  to  the  difficulties  under 
which  he  has  worked : 

"Thus  have  I  sung  in  battlefield  and  bower, 
Rinaldo's  cares,  and  prattled  through  my  page, 

While  other  studies  claim'd  the  irksome  hour. 
In  the  fourth  lustre  of  my  verdant  age ; 

Studies  from  which  I  hoped  to  have  the  power 
The  wrongs  of  adverse  fortune  to  assuage; 

I^ngrateful  studies,  whence  I  pine  away 

Unknown  to  others,  to  myself  a  prey." 

S'r  William  Blackstone  (author  of  the  famous  "Commentaries"), 
when  he  gave  up  literature  for  the  law,  wrote  the  poem,  "A 
Lawyer's  Farewell  to  His  Muse."  But  this  historical  romance  of 
Tasso's  proved  to  be  the  muse's  farewell  to  the  law.  From  that 
time  forth,  young  Tasso's  studies,  diligently  prosecuted  at  vari- 
ous schools,  were  wholly  literary  and  philosophical.  The  dedica- 
tion of  his  "Rinaldo"  to  the  Cardinal  d'Este,  brought  him  to  the 
favorable  notice  of  the  great  house  of  Este,  one  of  whose  mem- 


76  TASSO 

bers,  Alphonso  11. ,  was  sovereign  duke  of  Ferrara.  He  soon  ac- 
cepted an  invitation  from  the  duke  to  enter  his  service,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  the  court  of  Ferrara,  the  scene  of  his  glory  and  his  grief. 

For  some  years  Tasso  was  the  chief  glory  of  this  brilliant 
tind  luxurious  court.  Every  honor  was  paid  him  that  was  due  to 
the  first  poet  of  his  day.  In  a  clime  so  congenial  his  fertile  genius 
produced  with  ease.  Here  he  brought  forth  his  great  pastoral 
drama,  the  "Aminta,"  a  pastoral  worthy  of  Virgil  or  Theocritus, 
and  which,  if  he  had  written  nothing  else,  would  have  forever 
enshrined  his  name  among  the  world's  great  poets.  Meanwhile 
he  was  rapidly  completing  the  great  temple  of  his  dreams,  the 
"Gerusalemme  Liberata" — Jerusalem  Delivered — the  great  metri- 
cal story  of  the  Crusades.  This  vast  work,  in  twenty  cantos,  is 
the  master-piece  of  a  master  mind.  It  is  pre-emimently  the  one 
incontestably  great  epic  poem  of  the  Age  of  Chivalry;  a  literary 
labyrinth  of  knightly  deeds,  untainted  love  and  Christian  zeal. 

Tasso,  of  course,  cannot  be  said  to  equal  Hcmer  in  poetic  fire ; 
but  Voltaire  insists  that  he  is  superior  to  Homer  in  the  choice  of 
his  subject.  The  gloomy  grandeur  of  this  stanza,  from  the  fourth 
canto,  where  Satan  summons  his  infernal  band,  is  seldom  sur- 
passed in  the  whole  range  of  epic  literature: 

"Its  hoarse  alarm  the  Stygian  trumpet  sounded 
Through  the  dark  dwellings  of  the  damn'd ;  the  vast 
Tartarean  caverns  tremblingly  rebounded. 
Blind  air  rebellowing  to  the  dreary  blast ; 
Hell  quaked  with  all  its  millions ;  never  cast 
Th'  ethereal  skies  a  discord  so  profound. 
When  the  red  lightning's  vivid  flash  v^'as  past ; 
Nor  ever  with  such  tremors  rock'd  the  ground." 
The  reader  will  note  how  well  the  words  portray  the  very 

F^ounds  and  motions  described  in  this  passage.  This  is  decidedly 
Homeric,  this  trait  being  a  capital  feature  of  Homer.  The  intro- 
duction of  Satan  in  the  fourth  canto,  from  which  we  have  just 
quoted,  is  productive  of  exceedingly  striking  effects,  and  has  been 


'  TASSO  77 

imitated  by  Milton.  The  stories  of  knight-errantry,  the  enchant- 
ments, charms  and  con  juries  which  characterize  the  wild,  rich-"" 
fancy  of  the  chivalric  age  have  been  much  criticized  in  Tasso; 
and  yet,  in  this  regard,  the  chief  difference  between  his  romance 
and  that  of  Homer  and  Virgil  is  simply  this:  Tasso's  is  the  ro- 
mance of  Christianity;  theirs  is  the  romance  of  paganism.  As 
compared  with  Virgil,  Tasso  is  deficient  in  tenderness;  yet  we 
search  Virgil  in  vain  for  a  sweeter  picture  of  rustic  placidity  than 
this,  in  the  seventh  canto,  when  Erminia  is  awakened  in  her 
shepherds'  retreat: 

"She  slept,  till  in  her  dreaming  ear  the  bowers 

Whisper'd,  the  gay  birds  warbled  of  the  dawn; 

The  river  roar'd;  the  winds  to  the  young  flowers 

Made  love ;  the  blithe  bee  wound  its  dulcet  horn  •■ 

Roused  by  the  mirth  and  melodies  of  morn, 

Her  languid  eyes  she  opens,  and  perceives 

The  huts  of  shepherds  on  the  lonely  lawn; 

While  seeming  voices,  'twixt  the  waves  and  leaves, 

Call  back  her  scatter'd  thoughts,  again  she  sighs  and  grieves." 

An  astute  and  discriminating  English  critic  has  very  properly 
observed  •  "The  Jerusalem  is,  in  rank  and  dignity,  the  third  regu- 
lar epic  poem  in  the  world;  and  comes  next  to  the  Illiad  and 
Aeneid."  As  Lamartine  so  beautifully  says:  "Urged  by  piety  no 
less  than  by  the  muse,  Tasso  dreamed  of  a  crusade  of  poetic  genius, 
f.  spiring  to  equal  by  the  glory  and  the  sanctity  of  his  songs,  the 
c/usades  of  the  lance  he  was  about  to  celebrate."  Indeed,  a  pri- 
r  ary  characteristic  of  Tasso's  genius  was  a  deep  and  somber 
^r)irituality.  The  Italian  critic,  Corniani,  places  the  prose  of 
Tasso  almost  on  a  level  with  the  poetry.  "We  find  in  it,"  he  says, 
"dignity,  rhythm,  elegance,  and  purity  without  aflfectation,  and 
perspicuity  without  vulgarity.  He  is  never  trifling  or  verbose, 
like  his  contemporaries  of  that  century,  but  endeavors  to  fill  every 
part  of  his  discourses  with  meaning." 

Of  the  seven  terrible  years  he  spent  in  a  mad-house  at  Fer- 


78  TASSO 

rara,  one  shudders  to  think.  He  was  imprisoned  there  by  order 
of  the  Duke,  whose  only  pubhshed  excuse  was  that  he  was  de- 
taining Tasso  for  the  purpose  of  "curing"  him  of  his  insanity. 
But  the  real  purpose  of  Tasso's  incarceration  will,  in  all  proba- 
bility, forever  remain  a  mystery,  as  baffling  as  the  motive  which 
exiled  Ovid  from  the  court  t)f  Augustus.  It  is  hardly  possible 
that  any  alienist  of  even  that  crude  age,  would  have  recommended 
an  underground  dungeon  for  this  purpose ;  yet  it  was  in  an  under- 
ground cell  that  the  Duke  of  Ferrara  buried  tor  seven  years  the 
most  sublime  genius  of  the  age.  During  this  unhappy  period 
portions  of  the  Jerusalem  were  first  published,  from  manuscripts 
stolen  from  the  poet.  The  growing  insanity  of  the  unhappy  poet, 
and  his  romantic  love  of  Leonora,  are  portrayen'  with  great  poetic 
beauty  and  spiritual  charm  by  Goethe,  in  his  drama  "Torquato 
Tasso,"  wherein  (Act  II.,  Sc.  1)  he  makes  the  poet  speak  in  this 
fashion  of  his  greatest  work: 

"Whatever  in  my  song  doth  reach  the  heart 

And  find  an  echo  there,  I  owe  to  one, 

And  one  alone!  No  image  undefin'd 

Hover'd  before  my  soul,  approaching  now 

In  radiant  glory  to  retire  again. 

I  have  myself, 'With  mine  own  eyes,  beheld 

The  type  of  every  virtue,  every  grace; 

What  I  have  copied  thence  will  aye  endure; 

The  heroic  love  of  Tancred  to  Clorinda, 

Erminia's  silent  and  unnoticed  truth, 

Sophronis's  greatness  and  Olinda's  woe; 

These  are  not  shadows  by  illusion  bred ; 

I  know  they  are  eterrial,  for  they  are." 
Finai-y,  upon  the  petition  of  Pope  Sixtus  V.,  and  others, 
Tasso  was  released,  to  spend  the  remainder  of  his  life  chiefly  at 
Home  and  Naples.  Here  he  was  the  recipient  of  every  honor  that 
ambition  could  covet  or  genius  desire.  He  was  entertained  as  a 
guest  at  the  Vatican.    The  mansions  of  the  great  were  opened  to 


TASSO 


79 


him.  Wealth  and  honors  were  showered  upon  him.  With  a  soul 
chastened  by  sorrow  and  sweetened  by  adversity,  he  continued 
his  literary  work.  He  was  to  have  been  crowned  with  the  laurel 
crown  at  the  capitol  (the  first  to  receive  that  honor  since  Pet- 
rarch), but  before  the  event  transpired,  death  sealed  his  honors 
and  relieved  him  of  his  cares.  He  died  surrounded  by  the  monks 
OT  the  monastery,  and  his  last  words  were:  "Into  thy  hands,  O 
Lord !"  He  made  the  precepts  of  Christian  doctrine  the  practice 
of  his  life ;  and,  as  one  biographer  observes,  "the  darkness  of  his 
fate  had  a  tendency  to  turn  his  views  beyond  this  world,  as  night, 
which  hides  the  earth,  reveals  the  sky." 

In  his  later  years  Tasso  published  the  "Gerusalemme  Con- 
quistata,"  greatly  inferior  to  his  other  work,  but  he  imagined  it 
to  be  superior;  just  as  Milton  mistakenly  preferred  his  "Paradise 
Regained"  to  the  "Paradise  Lost.'*    .-.  '        '   .         '  ,   .;! 


"...i 


■j; ' 


■  r: 


I". 


:n  1 


.  I  • 


;•    :ih-:;.  ' 


•'^7    '>>!, 


.  1  ■    •  ! ' 


•  ■    /  i:-       ■  '.--  i . 


I'Ai 


'    , "  t 


vfl'r"  r;t-V' 


M"  : 


V. 
ARIOSTO. 

Ludi  v'ico  Ariosto,  one  of  the  greatest  names  in  Italian  litera- 
ture and  f)ne  of  the  great  poets  of  the  world,  was  born  at  Reggio, 
Sept.  8,  1474,  and  died  at  Ferrara  June  6,  1533.  Like  Petrarch, 
Tasso  and  Boccaccio,  Ariosto  was  early  destined  for  the  law,  but 
abandoned  his  irksome  studies  after  five  years  of  futile  and  mis- 
directed effort.  The  untimely  death  of  his  father  cast  upon  the 
shoulders  of  the  young  poet  the  burden  of  caring  for  a  large 
family. 

Like  that  of  Tasso,  the  career  of  Ariosto  was'  begun  by  enter- 
ing the  .service  of  the  House  of  Este.  During  the  ten  years  of 
his  servi';e  under  the  Cardinal  d'Este,  while  engaged  principally 
m  diplomatic  missions  and  military  operations,  he  completed  his 
master  work,  the  Orlando  Furioso,  which  will  stand  for  all  time 
as  the  great  romance  of  the  Age  of  Chivalry.  The  poem  consists 
cf  about  5,000  stanzas,  in  forty-six  cantos.  Dismissed  by  the 
Cardinal  the  poet  cast  his  lot  with  the  Cardinal's  brother,  the 
Duke  of  Ferrara,  to  whose  service  he  devoted  the  remainder  of 
his  life. 

In  addition  to  his  principal  work,  Ariosto  also  wrote  comedies, 
satires,  sonnets  and  other  poems,  all  which,  though  exhibiting  a 
high  order  of  genius,  have  been  so  eclipsed  by  his  great  master- 
piece that  they  are  but  little  known.  The  Orlando  Furioso  has 
long  been  recognized  as  the  greatest  work  of  its  kind  in  any  lan- 
;fi,uage.  Twenty-five  years  after  Ariosto's  death  Bernardo  Tasso, 
father  of  the  immortal  author  of  the  "Jerusalem  Delivered,"  and 
himself  a  poet  of  distinction,  wrote  of  the  tremendous  popularity 
of  Ariosto's  great  poem:  "There  is  neither  scholar  nor  artisan, 
boy  nor  girl,  nor  old  man,  who  is  contented  with  reading  it  only 
cnce.  Do  you  not  hear  people  every  day  singing  these  stanzas 
in  the  streets  and  in  the  fields  ?    I  do  not  believe  that  in  the  same 

80 


ARIOSTO  81 

length  of  time  as  had  passed  since  this  poem  was  given  to  the 
world,  th'A  there  have  been  printed  or  published  or  seen  so  many- 
Homers  or  Virgils  as  'Furiosos'." 

But  Ariosto's  popularity  has  been  by  no  means  confined  to 
his  native  land.  Next  to  Homer,  he  has  been  the  favorite  poet 
of  Europe,  More  than  sixty  editions  of  the  Orlando  Furioso  were 
pubKshed  in  the  sixteenth  century.  When  Gahleo  was  asked  how 
he  acquired  the  perspicuity  and  grace  which  so  distinguished  his 
philosophical  writings,  he  rephed:  "By  the  continual  study  of 
Ariosto."  One  of  the  most  learned  critics  of  modern  times, 
Henry  Hallam,  in  his  "Literature  of  Europe"  (Vol.  I„  Chap.  IV., 
Sect,  n.)  does  not  hesitate  to  say:  "The  Orlando  Furioso,  as  a 
great  single  poem,  has  been  very  rarely  surpassed  in  the  living 
records  of  poetry.  He  must  yield  to  three,  and  only  three,  of 
his  predecessors.  He  has  not  the  force,  simplicity,  and  truth  to 
nature  of  Homer,  the  exquisite  style  and  sustained  majesty  of 
Virgil,  nor  the  originality  and  boldness  of  Dante.  The  most  ob- 
vious parallel  is  Ovid,  whose  Metamorphoses,  however,  are  far 
excelled  by  the  Orlando  Furioso,  not  in  fertility  of  invention,  or 
variety  of  images  and  sentiments,  but  in  purity  of  taste,  in  grace 
of  language,  and  harmony  of  versification." 

The  seven  satires  of  Ariosto  were  not  published  until  after 
his  death.  They  are  written  in  the  manner  of  Horace,  whose 
work  they  fairly  approximate  in  easy  grace  and  Epicurean  cheer- 
fulness. Tiraboschi,  an  eminent  Italian  critic,  places  the  satires 
of  Ariosto  at  the  head  of  all  poetry  of  that  class.  His  comedies, 
like  so  much  of  the  early  Italian  comedy,  are  apparently  based 
upon  Plautus.  However,  when  Ariosto  is  mentioned  by  critics, 
it  is  always  the  Orlando  Furioso  which  is  discussed. 

For  centuries  there  has  been  a  controversy  among  Italian 
critics  over  the  relative  merits  of  Tasso  and  Ariosto.  Each  is 
great  in  his  kind.  But  the  Jerusalem  is  an  epic,  judged  by  every 
classic  rule.  The  Orlando  is  not ;  it  is  simply  a  wonderful  metrical 
romance,  although  portions  of  it  are  truly  epical.  To  quote  Mr. 
Hallam  again:  "The  finest  stanzas  in  Ariosto  are  fully  equal  to 
any  in  Tasso,  but  the  latter  has  by  no  means  so  many  feeble  lines. 


82  ARIOSTO 

Yet  his  language,  though  never  affectedly  obscure,  is  not  so  pel- 
lucid, and  has  a  certain  refinement  which  makes  us.  sometimes 
pause  to  perceive  the  meaning.  Whoever  reads  Ariosto  slowly, 
will  probably  be  offended  by  his  negligence ;  whoever  reads  Tasso 
quickly,  will  lose  something  of  the  elaborate  finish  of  his  style." 
Sir  Walter  Scott  was  called  "the  Ariosto  of  the  north."  But 
he  was  not.  Spenser  is  the  English  poet  most  naturally  to  be 
compared  with  Ariosto,  for  "Fierce  wars  and  faithful  loves  did 
moralize  the  song"  of  both.  But  Spenser  lacks  the  gaiety,  warmth 
and  ardor  of  the  great  Italian,  although  equalling  him  in  rhetori- 
cal splendor  and  excelling  him  in  morality. 

In  one  view  of  the  subject,  the  most  striking  feature  of 
Ariosto  is  the  constant  shifting  of  style  and  scene.  In  narration 
and  description  he  has  never  been  surpassed.  His  variety  is  end- 
less, his  versatility  most  profuse;  comic  and  satiric;  heroic,  ma- 
jestic, tender,  licentious — from  lively  to  severe,  his  sportive 
imagination  bounds  and  ripples  along  through  his  forty  thousand 
lines,  excelling  in  whatsoever  he  sees  fit  to  attempt,  always  suit- 
ing his  style  to  his  subject,  and  always  painting  his  moving  pic- 
tures in  smooth  and  melodious  verse. 

As  Virgil  essayed  a  continuation  of  Homer's  Illiad,  so  does 
Ariosto  assume  to  continue  Boiardo's  Orlando  Inamorato.  The 
subject  is  the  many  chivalric  adventures  of  Orlando  who  became 
insane  through  love  for  Angelica.  He  is,  however,  finally  re- 
stored to  sanity.     We  quote  from  the  39th  Canto: 

"When  to  his  former  self  he  was  restored, 
Of  wiser  and  of  manlier  mind  than  e'er. 

From  love  as  well  was  freed  the  enam.ored  lord ; 
And  she,  so  gentle  deemed,  so  fair  whilere, 

And  by  renowned  Orlando  so  adored 

Did  but  to  him  a  worthless  thing  appear. 

What  he  through  love  had  lost,  to  re-acquire 

Was  his  whole  study,  was  his  whole  desire." 
Although  the  Orlando  Furioso  was  first  published  in  English  a 
few  years  after  the  death  of  Shakespeare,  it  is  believed  that  the 
first  real'y  satisfactory  translation  was  by  Rose,  in  1823,  and  this 
-trsion  is  still  the  most  popular  among  readers  of  English. 


VI.  .     ,. 

.        BOIARDO.  .  , 

To  the  casual  reader  Boiardo  is  of  interest  chiefly  because  of 
his  v/ork  having  suggested  to  Ariosto  the  Orlando  Furioso;  but 
to  the  student  of  Italian  literature  he  is  also  valuable  upon  his 
own  account.       ,  ,.  rv    .  ., 

Matteo  Maria  Boiardo,  Count  of  Scandiano,  was  born  about 
1480  and  died  in  1494.  Educated  at  the  University  of  Ferrara, 
he  entered  the  service  of  Duke  Borso  of  Ferrara,  and  continued  in 
the  service  of  his  successor,  Duke  Ercole.  Boiardo  was  one  of 
the  most  finished  scholars  of.  his  time,  although  Hallam  holds  him 
to  be  inferior  in  scholarship  to  Ariosto ;  at  least,  he  thinks  Ariosto 
more  conversant  with  the  Latin  poets.  He  was  the  author  of 
many  dramas,  song  and  other  poems.  He  also  made  a  transla- 
tion of  Herodotus  into  Italian. 

Boiardo  is  known  to  posterity  principally  because  of  his 
greatest  work,  the  '"Orlando  Inammorato,"  which,  however,  was 
unfinished  at  his  death.  The  poem  deals  with  the  Charlemagne 
cycle,  and  details  the  adventures  and  chivalric  love  of  Orlando  for 
Angelica,  an  Oriental  princess.  Three  editions  of  the  poem  were 
published  within  the  twenty  years  following  Boiardo's  death,  and 
within  a  hundred  years  it  had  passed  through  sixteen  editions. 
Three  books  were  added  to  the  poem  by  Agostini,  but  the  addi- 
tions in  no  way  equal  the  context  of  Boiardo.  The  poem  was 
early  translated  into  French,  and  editions  now  exist  in  all  the 
great  modern  languages. 

Francesco  Berni,  a  noted  Italian  poet  who  died  in  1536,  who 
was  the  real  perfecter  of  the  humorous  poetry  of  Italy,  and  whose 
manner  has  been  so  happily  imitated  by  Byron  in  "Beppo"  and 
"Don  Juan,"  transformed  Boiardo's  great  poem  into  a  burlesque 
which  has  all  but  taken  the  place  of  the  original  work.  In  1845 
another  version  was  brought  out  by  Lodovico  Domenichi  which 

83 


84  BOIARDO 

v^as  likewise  more  popular  than  the  original,  though  vastly  in- 
ferior. 

Milton  was  familiar  with  the  romance  of  Boiardo,  and  di- 
rectly refers  to  it  in  the  following  beautiful  Unes  from  Book  III. 
of  his  "Paradise  Regained" : 

*'Such  forces  met  not,  nor  so  wide  a  camp, 

When  Agrican  with  all  his  northern  powers 

Besieged  Albracca,  as  romancers  tell, 

The  city  of  Gallaphrone,  from  whence  to  win 

The  fairest  of  her  sex,  Angelica 

His  daughter,  sought  by  many  prowest  knights, 

Both  Paynim,  and  the  peers  of  Charlemagne, 

Such  and  so  numerous  was  their  chivalry." 

Two  of  the  Italian  critics,  Pellegrini  and  Castelvetro,  have 
roundly  berated  Ariosto  for  building  on  the  foundations  of 
Boiardo.  Ariosto,  indeed,  appears  to  have  harbored  no  other  de- 
sign, originally,  than  that  of  carrying  forward  the  story  as  Agos- 
tini  had  assumed  to  do  before  him,  but  in  far  better  style  than 
Agcstini  was  capable  of  employing;  having  written  the  first  few 
cantos  of  the  Furioso  merely,  as  he  said,  to  please  and  amuse  his 
friends.  The  story  of  the  Inammorato  must  be  first  read,  if  we 
would  fully  understand  and  appreciate  the  Furioso.  But,  although 
more  pler.sing  and  various,  the  inventions  of  Ariosto  are  less 
original  than  those  of  Boiardo. 

Boiardo  wrote  numerous  shorter  poems,  distinguished  for 
their  transparency  and  grace,  but  the  fame  of  all  these  was  so 
completely  eclipsed  by  his  greater  work  that  they  are  now  but 
little  known.  Typical  of  these  shorter  works,  and  second  to  none 
in  its  beauty,  is  this  charming  sonnet,  entitled  "Beautiful  Gift" : 


BOIARDO  85 

Beautiful  gift,  and  dearest  pledge  of  love, 
Woven  by  that  fair  hand  whose  gentle  aid 
Alone  can  heal  that  wound  itself  hath  made, 

And  to  my  wandering  life  a  sure  guide  prove ; 
O  dearest  gift  all  others  far  above 

Curiously  wrought  in  many-colored  shade, 

Ah,  why  with  thee  has  not  the  spirit  stayed, 

That  with  such  tasteful  skill  to  form  thee  strove  ? 

Why  have  I  not  that  lovely  hand  with  thee? 
Why  have  I  not  with  thee  each  fond  desire, 

That  did  such  passing  beauty  to  thee  give? 
Through  life  thou  ever  shalt  remain  with  me, 

A  thousand  tender  sighs  thou  shalt  inspire, 

A  thousand  kisses  day  and  night  receive. 


VII. 
MICHELANGELO. 

Michelangelo  Buonarroti  (called  by  the  old  English  writers 
Michael  ^ngelo)  was  born  in  1475  and  died,  at  the  age  of  eighty- 
nine,  in  the  year  1564,  after  the  most  brilliant  career  in  the  his- 
tory- of  art.  His  life  truly  exemplified  Lavatar's  definition  of  art 
as  "nothing  but  the  highest  sagacity  and  exertion  of  human  na- 
ture," and  students  of  his  manifold  creations  cannot  doubt  that 
his  triple  triumphs  in  painting,  sculpture  and  architecture  would 
at  least  have  been  equalled  if  not  surpassed  by  the  magic  product 
of  his  pen  if  he  had  chosen  to  devote  the  sublime  activities  of  his 
soul  to  verbal  expression  alone.  Even  as  it  v/as,  his  poems  ap- 
pear to  have  been  as  highly  esteemed  in  his  own  life-time  as  were 
his  other  works  of  art. 

Addison  has  remarked  the  great  aflfinity  between  designing 
and  poetry.  Schelling  says  that  "Architecture  is  frozen  music;" 
and  Longfellow  notes  that  "The  picture  that  approaches  sculpture 
nearest  is  the  best  picture."  Whether  in  painting,  or  music,  or 
sculpture,  or  literature,  or  histrionic  art,  the  highest  creations  of 
genius  are  but  blossomings  of  the  soul,  and  although  their  tints 
may  vary  and  each  bloom  exhale  a  fragrance  differing  from  the 
rest,  all  are  grown  from  the  same  bounteous  Tree  of  Life  of  which 
they  are  the  fruits  and  flowers.  Great  works  of  art  are,  indeed, 
"separate  as  billows,  but  one  as  the  sea;"  and  they  adorn  the 
firmament  with  their  deathless  beauty  as  so  many  golden  suns, 
diflfering  "as  one  star  differeth  from  another  in  glory." 

In  any  enlightened  consideration  of  the  literary  work  of 
Michelangelo  we  should  remember,  as  Symonds  observes,  that 
"The  love  of  beauty,  the  love  of  Florence,  and  the  love  of  Christ, 
are  the  three  main  motives  of  his  poetry."  They  were,  indeed, 
the  motives  of  his  life.  The  following  excerpt  from  Edgar  Allen 
Poe's  "The  Poetic  Principle,"  is  peculiarly  applicable  to  all  the 
artistic  creations  of  this  great  Florentine :    "An  immortal  instinct, 

86 


MICHELANGELO  87 

deep  within  the  spirit  of  man,  is  a  sense  of  the  beautiful.  It  is  at 
once  a  consequence  and  an  indication  of  his  perennial  existence. 
It  is  no  mere  appreciation  of  the  beauty  before  us,  but  a  wild 
effort  to  reach  the  beauty  above.  Inspired  by  an  ecstatic  pre- 
science of  the  glories  beyond  the  grave,  we  struggle,  by  multi- 
form combinations  among  the  things  and  thoughts  of  Time,  to 
attain  a  portion  of  that  loveliness  whose  very  elements,  perhaps, 
appertain  to  Eternity  alone.  *  *  *  The  struggle  to  apprehend 
supernal  Loveliness, — this  struggle  on  the  part  of  souls  fittingly 

constituted,  has  given  to  the  world  all  that  which  the  world  has 
ever  been  enabled  at  once  to  understand  and  to  feel  as  poetic." 

Intellectually,  Michelangelo  was  a  child  of  Dante,  whose 
career  inspired  two  of  his  most  powerful  sonnets.  One  of  these 
(translated  by  Symonds)  is  as  follows: 

From  heaven  his  spirit  came,  and  robed  in  clay 
The  realms  of  justice  and  of  mercy  trod. 
Then  rose  a  living  man  to  gaze  on  God, 
That  he  might  make  the  truth  as  clear  as  day. 

For  that  pure  star  that  brightened  with  his  ray 
The  undeserving  nest  where  I  was  born, 
The  whole  wide  world  would  be  a  prize  to  scorn ; 
None  but  his  maker  can  due  guerdon  pay. 

I  speak  of  Dante,  whose  high  work  remains 
Unknown,  unhonored  by  that  thankless  brood, 
Who  only  to  just  men  deny  their  wage. 

Were  I  but  he !  Born  for  like  lingering  pains, 
Against  his  exile  coupled  with  his  good 
I'd  gladly  change  the  world's  best  heritage ! 

Here  we  catch  the  same  note  of  sadness  that  is  chiselled  with  a 
perfection  so  exquisite  and  sublime  in  the  "Pieta"  in  St.  Peter's, 
the  first  trroup  in  modern  sculpture;  the  same  majesty  which  we 
note  in  the  figures  of  the  Sistine  Chapel,  "the  greatest  piece  of 
work  ever  done  by  painter's  hand ;"  and  the  same  heroic  dignity 


^S  MICHELANGELO 

that  reposes  in  the  stern  countenance  of  his  "Moses"  (done  for 
the  mausoleum  of  Pope  Julius  IL),  fittingly  termed  the  "greatest 
colossal  statue  in  modern  art."  Truly  may  it  be  said,  in  the  words 
of  Wordsworth,  that  the  statuary  of  Michelangelo  was  but  "the 
marble  index  of  a  mind  forever  voyaging  through  strange  seas 
of  thought,  alone." 

He  gave  the  last  years  of  his  life  chiefly  to  architecture, 
planning  many  buildings,  in  both  Florence  and  Rome,  besides  the 
fortifications  of  Rome.  He  had  previously  been  superintendent 
of  the  fortifications  at  Florence.  In  1546  or  1547  he  was  ap- 
pointed chief  architect  of  St.  Peter's,  to  which  task  he  devoted 
the  last  eighteen  years  of  his  life.  The  vast  dome  of  St.  Peter's, 
the  noblest  work  of  its  kind  in  existence,  is  his  design.  For  his 
work  upon  St.  Peter's  he  refused  to  accept  any  compensation  what- 
ever, deeming  the  task  a  Christian  privilege  and  a  religious  duty. 
It  was  this  mighty  performance  which,  in  part,  prompted  Emer- 
son to  write : 

"The  hand  that  rounded  Peter's  dome 

And  groined  the  aisles  of  Christian  Rome, 

Wrought  in  a  sad  sincerity : 

Himself  from  God  he  could  not  free; 

He  builded  better  than  he  knew; 

The  conscious  stone  to  beauty  grew." 

Of  his  three  hundred  and  fifty  figures  in  the  Sistine  Chapel, 
Sidney  Colvin  writes:  "His  sublimity,  often  in  excess  of  the 
occasion,  is  here  no  more  than  equal  to  it;  moreover,  it  is  com- 
bined with  the  noblest  elements  of  grace,  even  of  tenderness. 
Whatever  the  soul  of  this  great  Florentine,  the  spiritual  heir  of 
Dante,  with  Christianity  of  the  Middle  Age  not  shaken  in  his 
mind,  but  expanded  and  transcendentalized  by  the  knowledge  and 
love  of  Plato — whatever  the  soul  of  such  a  man,  full  of  suppressed 
tenderness  and  righteous  indignation,  and  of  anxious  questionings 
of  comin?  fate,  could  conceive,  that  Michelangelo  has  expressed 
or  shadowed  forth  in  this  great  and  significant  scheme  of  paint- 
ings." 


MICHELANGELO  89 

Although  his  genius  was  of  astonishing  spontaneity,  he  at- 
tained his  vast  perfections  by  close  application  to  his  work. 
"Trifles  make  perfection,"  he  said,  "but  perfection  is  no  trifle." 
When  he  was  eighty  years  of  age  he  was  discovered  by  Cardinal 
FarnesC;  gazing  raptly  upon  the  ruins  of  the  Coliseum,  and  saying, 
"I  yet  go  to  school,  that  I  may  learn  something,"  The  intensity 
of  his  labor  is  indicated  in  a  sonnet  to  Giovanni  da  Pistoja,  wherein 
he  says,  half  humorously,  of  his  work  in  the  Sistine  Chapel: 

Crosswise  I  bend  me  like  a  Syrian  dow  :  i 

Whence  false  and  quaint,  I  know, 
Must  be  the  fruit  of  squinting  brain  and  eye ; 
For  ill  can  aim  the  gun  that  bends  awry. 

Come  then,  Giovanni,  try 
To  succor  my  dead  pictures  and  my  fame; 
Since  foul  I  fare,  and  painting  is  my  shame. 

Nearly  all  of  his  sonnets  are  addressed  to  friends.  Some  of 
the  best,  however,  are  upon  religious  subjects.  Michelangelo  was 
never  married.  A  priest  once  asked  him  why.  "I  have  only  too 
much  of  a  wife  in  this  art  of  mine,"  he  replied.  "She  has  always 
kept  me  struggling  on.  My  children  will  be  the  works  I  leave 
behind  m.e.  Even  though  they  are  worth  naught,  I  shall  live 
awhile  in  them."  And  Hve  he  shall,  till  Time  shall  be  no  more! 
His  love  for  Vittoria  Colonna,  beautiful  and  touching,  as  we  learn 
from  the  sonnets,  was  purely  Platonic  in  character.  A  famous 
painting  by  Hermann  Schneider  shows  the  inspired  Florentine, 
standing  beside  his  statue  of  Moses,  reading  his  sonnets  to  the 
woman  he  loved.  To  her  he  addressed  many  of  his  most  beauti- 
ful verses,  and  after  she  died  his  mournful  expressions  are  said  to 
equal  some  of  the  sonnets  of  Petrarch  "To  Laura  in  Death."  Like 
that  of  Petrarch,  the  love  of  Michelangelo  is  not  of  earthly  kind ; 
for,  as  he  writes : 

Love  fits  the  soul  with  wings,  and  bids  her  win 
Her  flight  aloft  nor  e'er  to  earth  decline ; 
'Tis  the  first  step  that  leads  her  to  the  shrine 

Of  Him  who  slakes  the  thirst  that  burns  within. 


VIII. 
MACHIAVELLI. 

In  his  lecture  on  "Historical  Writing-"  Dr.  Blair  remarks  that 
**the  country  in  Europe  where  the  historical  genius  has  shone 
forth  with  most  luster,  beyond  doubt,  is  Italy."  Beyond  question, 
likewise,  the  first  historian  of  Italy  in  the  modern  age,  is  Niccolo 
Machiavelli  (born  1469,  died  1527)  ;  and  no  writer,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Montaigne,  exerted  so  great  an  influence  upon  the  age 
which  followed  him. 

Machiavelli  undoubtedly  ranks  at  the  head  of  the  prose 
writers  of  Italy.  Taine,  the  French  critic,  calls  him  "the  Thucy- 
vlides  of  his  age."  His  dramas,  "Mandragola"  and  "Clitia,"  bear 
:.  striking-  resemblance  to  the  Athenian  comedies,  and  are  ranked 
above  those  of  Ariosto.  His  "Belphegor"  is  a  masterpiece  of  its 
kind.  His  "History  of  Florence"  is  the  first  great  historical  work 
of  modern  times,  is  the  greatest  historical  work  produced  during 
the  age  i»i  which  he  lived,  and  clearly  establishes  his  title  as  the 
father  of  modern  historical  writing.  This  work  has  taken  its 
place  among  the  historical  classics  of  the  world.  Throughout 
all  his  works,  the  style  of  Machiavelli  is  distinguished  for  sim- 
plicity, clearness  and  strength. 

But,  aside  from  his  history,  the  fame  of  Machiavelli  rests 
almost  solely  upon  "The  Prince,"  a  treatise  on  practical  politics, 
which  he  has  reduced  to  a  science — and  a  very  unpopular  science, 
too.  But,  to  fully  understand  his  political  theories,  one  should 
read  "The  Prince"  and  the  "Discourses  on  Livy"  together.  Speak- 
ing of  the  first  of  these  works,  Hallam  says :  "Without  palliating 
the  worst  passages,  it  may  be  said  that  few  books  have  been  more 
misrepresented."  The  same  critic  continues:  "His  crime,  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world,  was  to  have  cast  away  the  veil  ujT  hypocrisy, 
the  profession  of  a  religious  adherence  to  maxims  which  at  the 
same  time  were  violated."     In  other  words,  Machiavelli   would 

90 


MACHIAVELLI   '  91- 

have  been  more  popular  had  he  advocated  the  throtthng  of  weaker 
peoples  under  the  high-sounding  phrase  of  "'self-determination/' 
or  preached  absolutism  under  the  guise  of  freedom !  But  Machia- 
velH  was  no  hypocrite,  and  one  need  not  be  a  monarchist  to  ac- 
credit him  with  the  virtue  of  candor.  He  reasoned  out  a  plan 
for  the  estabhshment  of  a  powerful  Italian  state.  His  dream  was 
of  a  uniled  Italy.  He  knew  that  this  ideal  could  never  be  at- 
tained by  the  multitude  of  insignificant  states  then  existing. 
And  history  has  since  vindicated  his  judgment  in  this  regard. 
Italy  remained  the  prey  of  every  foreign  foe  until  it  was  united 
under  a  monarchical  form  of  government.  No  one  will  contend 
that  a  monarchical  form  of  government  is  necessarily  the  best 
possible  government.  It  may,  indeed,  be  the  very  worst.  Of  this 
fact,  historical  illustrations  are  numerous.  One  can  pay  too  much 
for  political  power.  But,  considering  the  needs  and  wants  of  a 
particular  people  at  a  particular  time,  a  strongly  centralized  state 
may  be,  while  not  ideal,  yet  the  most  practicable  for  achieving 
the  ends  desired.  Whether  a  monarchy  be  desirable  or  not  must 
depend  upon  the  ideals  and  purposes  of  the  people  governed. 
Every  people  has  the  right  to  choose  its  own  form  of  government. 
Solon  of  Athens,  greatest  of  the  Seven  Wise  men  of  Greece,  ad- 
mitted that  his  Athenian  constitution  was  not  the  best  possible, 
but  justified  it  upon  the  theory  that  it  was  the  best  which  the 
people  w'_uld  receive.  A  monarchy  may  be  desirable  from  the 
viewpoint  of  expediency,  and  still  be  wrong  as  a  matter  of  prin- 
ciple. Machiavelli  does  not  advise  a  tyrannical  form  of  govern- 
ment. He  recommends  no  such  thing.  He  does  state  that  the 
love  of  the  people  is  a  better  security  for  a  ruler  than  any  fortress. 

Machiavelh  does  not  write,  like  Dr.  Francis  Lieber,  upon 
"Political  Ethics."  In  "The  Prince"  he  is  not  discussing  ethics  at 
all.  He  i.s  simply  discussing  the  means  to  an  end,  and  that  end 
was  a  united  Italy.  It  is  matter  of  surprise  that  Machiavelli's 
"Prince"  has  been  so  misconstrued  by  so  discriminating  a  scholar 
as  Andrew  Dickson  White,  who  said,  in  his  speech  on  Grotius, 
dehvered  at  the  peace  conference  at  The  Hague,  in  1899: 

"The   spirit   which   most   thoroughly   permeated   the   whole 


92  MACHIAVELLI 

world,  whether  in  war  or  peace,  when  Grotius  wrote,  was  the 
spirit  of  Machiavelli — unmoral,  immoral.  It  had  been  dominant 
for  more  than  a  hundred  years.  To  measure  the  service  ren- 
dered by  the  theory  of  Grotius,  we  have  only  to  compare  Machia- 
velli's  'Prince,'  with  Grotius's  'De  Jure  BelU  ac  Pacis.'  *  *  * 
From  his  own  conception  of  the  attitude  of  the  Divine  Mind  to- 
ward all  the  falsities  of  his  time  grew  a  theory  of  international 
morals  w^iich  supplanted  the  principles  of  Machiavelli." 

Dr.  White  simply  failed  to  grasp  the  intense  nationalism  of 
the  remarkable  Italian,  as  it  was  grasped  by  the  great  American 
lawyer  ard  patriot,  Rufus  Choate,  "the  Erskine  of  America", 
when  in  his  address  on  "American  Nationality,"  deUvered  at  Bos- 
Ion  on  July  4,  1858,  he  asked:  "What  else  formed  the  secret  of 
the  brief  spell  of  Rienzi's  power,  and  burned  and  sparkled  in  the 
poetry  and  rhetoric  of  his  friend  Petrarch,  and  soothed  the  dark 
hour  of  the  grander  soul  of  Machiavelli,  loathing  that  Italy,  and 
recalling  that  other  day  when  'eight  hundred  thousand  men 
sprang  tj  arms  at  the  rumor  of  a  Galhc  invasion'?"  Choate  un- 
derstood Machiavelli ;  where  as  White  has  only  voiced  the  popular 
misconception.     Thus  Butler  in  his  "Hudibras"  writes: 

"Nick   Machiavel   had   ne'er   a   trick, 

Though  he  gave  his  name  to  our  Old  Nick." 
And  note  how  Shakespeare  falls  afoul  of  history :  In  I.  Henry  VI., 
York  spriiiks  of  Alencon,  "that  notorious  Machiavel  y  and  in  III. 
Henry  VI.,  Gloucester  speaks  of  "the  murderous  Macliiavel."  To 
fully  grasp  the  humor  of  this  anachronism  we  should  remember 
that  Henvy  VI.  died  exactly  ninety-eight  years  before  Machiavelli 
was  born.  It  requires  a  pretty  bad  reputation,  indeed,  to  precede 
one's  birth  a  hundred  years. 

We  have  said  that  "The  Prince"  should  be  read  with  Machia- 
velli's  "Discourses  on  Livy."  The  observation  is  reiterated.  The 
"Discourses"  are  the  more  valuable  of  the  two  dissertations,  and 
the  latter  serve,  in  great  measure,  to  tone  down  the  asperities  of 
the  former;  although  Macaulay,  apparently,  finds  no  good  in 
either.  The  "Discourses"  comprise  three  books,  of  143  chapters. 
In  this  treatise,  the  greatest  of  its  kind  since  Aristotle,  the  au- 


MACHIAVELLI  93 

thor  founded  a  school  of  philosophical  politics,  and  prepared  the 
way  for  Bodin  and  Montesquieu  in  France,  Lord  Bacon  and  John 
Locke  in  England,  and  Francis  Lieber  in  America. 

Machiavelli  was  a  statesman,  a  diplomat,  a  political  philoso- 
pher and  a  practical  politician.  He  was  always  honest  and  was 
always  poor.  The  evil  he  is  said  to  have  voiced  is  often  referred 
to  by  those  who  have  never  read  him — but  it  is  seldom  or  never 
quoted.  Let  us  quote  some  of  the  good  in  Machiavelli.  To  those 
who  seek  political  honors  only  for  selfish  ends,  we  commend  this 
axiom,  from  the  "Discourses"  (IIL,  38) :  "For  titles  do  not  re- 
flect honor  on  men,  but  rather  men  on  their  titles"— Perche  non 
1  titoli  illustrano  gli  uomini,  ma  gli  uomini  i  titoli!  That  is  not 
immoral ;  nor  is  it  "unmoral" ;  nor  are  these  two  phrases,  from  the 
same  source: 

"There  should  be  many  judges;  for  few  will  always  do  the 

will  of  few." 

"For  as  laws  are  necessary  that  good  manners  may  be  pre- 
served, so  there  is  need  of  good  manners,  that  laws  may  be  main- 
tained." And  here  is  another  Machiavellian  maxim  which  all 
politicians  will  do  well  to  heed : 

"Brums  are  of  three  generations,  those  that  understand  of 
themselves,  those  that  understand  when  another  shows  them, 
and  those  that  understand  neither  of  themselves  nor  by  the  show- 
ing of  ot)^ers." 


IX. 
METASTASIS 

Pietro  Metastasio  was  born  at  Rome  January  13,  1698,  and 
died  at  V:'enna  April  12,  1782.  He  is  still  one  of  the  most  popular 
poets  of  Italy.  Metastasio  (whose  family  name  was  Trapassi) ,  was 
of  obscuro  parentage,  but  his  genius  early  atoned  for  his  humble 
birth.  His  youthful  talents  drew  the  attention  of  Gravina,  the 
jurisconsult,  who  thenceforth  assumed  responsibility  for  his  edu- 
cation. Gravina  was  devoted  to  the  Greek  drama,  and  soon  com- 
municated his  literary  passion  to  the  wilhng  mind  of  his  pupil. 
Never  was  the  seed  of  poesy  cast  upon  more  fecund  soil. 

At  tie  age  of  twenty-six  Metastasio  produced  one  of  his  most 
famous  d^'amas,  "La  Dione  abbanclonata,"  which  brought  him  to 
the  notic«>  of  cultured  Europe.  Four  years  later,  at  the  age  of 
thirty,  he  was  appointed  to  the  office  of  "court  poet"  at  Vienna. 
His-  fame  throughout  Europe  was  now  established.  His  "La 
Dione,"  "II  Catone"  and  "II  Siroe"  were  known  in  every  center 
of  art  and  literature.  While  at  Vienna  he  produced  "Giuseppe 
riconosciuto,"  "II  Demofoonte,"  and  "Olimpiade."  The  melo- 
dramas "Clemenza  di  Tito"  and  "Attiho  Regolo,"  are  among  the 
best  of  his  works. 

Metastasio  wrote  sixty-three  dramas  and  forty-eight  can- 
tatas, besides  numerous  elegies,  canzonette,  sonnets  and  transla- 
tions. His  Vorks  have  been  translated  into  many  languages,  and 
frequently  set  to  music  by  celebrated  composers,  his  words  lend- 
ing themselves  most  readily  to  operatic  uses.  The  siyle  of  his 
dramas  i^-  musical  in  a  marked  degree,  combining  with  great 
beauty  of  sentim.ent  the  facile  charms  of  lyrical  grace  and  ele- 
gance, ihe  closeness  and  rapidity  of  his  dialogue  bear  a  strong 
resemblance  to  the  classical  Greek  tragedy.  The  constant  change 
cf  incident,  the  broken  dialogue,  the  rapid  expressions  of  passion, 
are  sugg-stive  of  the  style  of  Guarini's  "Pastor  Fido,"  which,  in 
turn,  harks  back  to  the  "Aminta"  of  Tasso,  who  drew  his  pictures 

94 


METASTASIO  95 

directly  Irom  the  classic  models  of  Ovid,  Virgil  and  Theocritus. 
Editions  of  his  works  have  been  published  at  Florence,  Turin, 
Genoa,  Mantua,  and  Paris. 

In  1690  Giovanni  Crescimbeni  and  Giovanni  Vincenzo  Gravina 
founded  in  Rome  an  academy  called  the  Arcadia.  Its  purpose 
was  to  promote  greater  naturalness  of  expression  in  poetic  forms. 
The  Academy  failed,  but  it  did  bring  forth  some  good  verse, 
(vritten  ?n  its  three  manners.  In  the  first  manner  the  sonnet 
and  the  madrigal  were  cultivated ;  in  the  second,  that  of  love 
lyrics;  in  the  third,  that  of  the  occasional  poem,  Metastasio  was 
the  most  distinguished  of  all  who  shared  in  this  movement.  He 
began  his  career  as  a  lyric  poet  of  the  second  Arcadian  manner. 
However,  he  is  now  remembered  only  for  his  operatic  dramas, 
"masterpieces  of  a  time  when  it  was  still  considered  necessary 
that  the  libretto  of  an  opera  should  be  a  work  of  art." 

While  Metastasio,  as  a  whole,  is  Httle  known  in  English,  ex- 
cerpts from  his  plays  have,  because  of  their  good  sense  and  feel- 
ing, surrrounted  the  barriers  of  all  languages,  and  are  known  in 
every  land  and  clime.  For  example,  many  who  have  had  no  op- 
portunity to  read  the  "Giueseppe  riconosciuto,"  are  familiar  with 
this  quotation  from  the  play :  "The  canker  which  the  trunk  con- 
ceals is  revealed  by  the  leaves,  the  fruit  or  the  flower" — a  truth 
so  sound  as  to  become  an  axiom,  and  so  poetically  expressed  that 
it  cannot  be  forgotten.  And  this,  from  the  same  great  drama: 
'Tf  our  inward  griefs  were  seen  written  on  our  brow,  how  many 
would  be  pitied  who  now  are  envied !''  Let  him  say  it  in  the  style 
and  idiomi  so  peculiarly  his  own : 

Se  a  ciascun  1'  interno  affanno 
Si  leggesse  in  fronta  Scritto, 
Quanti  mai,  che  invidia  fanno, 
Ci  farebbero  pieta! 

In  aiother  of  his  greater  works,  "La  Clemenza  di  Tito,"  we 
find  this  noble  sentiment:  "To  take  away  life  is  a  power  which 
the  vilest  of  the  earth  have  in  common ;  to  give  it  belongs  to  gods 
and  kings  alone."    Another  of  his  phrases  that  has  crept  around 


96  METASTASIO 

the  world  is  the  following,  from  "II  Trionfo  di  Clelia" :  "'Know 
that  the  slender  shrub  which  is  seen  to  bend,  conquers  when  it 
yields  to  the  storm."  Still  another  characteristic  phrase,  illus- 
trating the  author's  pastoral  elegance,  is  the  following,  from  the 
"Alcide  al  Bivio":  "That  water  which  falls  from  some  Alpine 
height  is  dashed,  broken,  and  will  murmur  loudly,  but  grows 
limpid  by  its  fall."  In  this  sentence,  as  in  others,  we  may  better 
grasp  the  rapid  movement,  the  short  measure  and  the  lilting 
music  of  Metastasio's  operatic  style,  by  viewing  it  in  his  native 
Italian : 

Queir  onda,  che  ruina 
Dalla  pendice  alpina, 
Balza,  si  frange,  a  mormora 
Ma  limpidia  si  fa. 


X.     ■ 

ALFIERI. 

According  to  Dr.  Frederic  Taber  Cooper,  Vittorio  Alfieri 
(born  1749,  died  1803)  was  the  most  important  of  the  Italian 
dramatic  Doets.  Matthew  Arnold  said  that  he  was  "a  noble-mind- 
ed, deepb  -interested  man,  but  a  monotonous  poet."  There  is,  in- 
deed, in  all  his  works,  an  almost  total  absence  of  the  rich  color- 
ing, the  ;?olden  glow  and  Tuscan  softness  of  classic  Italian  speech. 
He  studied  assiduously  to  prune  his  style,  almost  to  the  point  of 
harshness.  His  dramas  are  erected  upon  the  classical  models, 
and  in  them  we  sometimes  catch  a  distant  echo  of  the  thundering 
harp  of  Aeschylus. 

It  vras  his  thought  that  the  theatre  should  be  "a  school 
in  which  men  might  learn  to  be  free,  brave  and  generous,  inspired 
by  true  virtue,  full  of  love  for  their  country,  and  in  all  their 
passions  enthusiastic,  upright  and  ma.gnanimous."  Such  he 
sought  to  make  it.  With  him  the  love  of  freedom  was  a  passion. 
His  dream,  like  that  of  Petrarch  and  MachiavelH,  was  of  a  united 
Italy.  But  he  hated  king-craft  in  all  its  forms.  His  work  bore 
fruit.  No  writer  did  more  to  achieve  Italian  unity.  As  Gioberti 
says,  "the  revival  of  civil  order  throughout  the  peninsula,  the 
creation  of  a  laic  Italy,  is  due  to  Vittorio  Alfieri,  who,  like  a  new 
Dante,  was  the  true  secularizer  of  the  spirit  of  the  Italian  peo- 
ple, and  gave  to  it  that  strong  impulse  which  still  lives  and  bears 
fruit." 

When  we  think  of  Alfieri.  observes  another  Italian  critic,  we 
must  brii:g  ourselves  back  to  the  age  in  which  he  lived.  "The 
regeneration  of  Italian  character,"  says  Mariotti,  "was  yet  merely 
intellectyal  and  individual,  and  Alfieri,  was  born  from  that  class 
which  was  the  last  to  feel  the  redeeming  influence.  Penetrated 
with  the  utter  impossibility  of  distinguishing  himself  by  imme- 
diate action,  he  was  forced  to  throw  himself  on  the  last  resources 

;  97  - 


98  ALFIERI 

of  literatare.  He  had  exalted  ideas  of  its  duties  and  influence; 
he  had  exalted  notions  of  the  dignity  of  man: — an  ardent, 
though  a  vague  and  exaggerated  love  of  liberty,  and  of  the  manly 
virtues  which-  it  is  wont  to  foster.  He  invaded  the  stage.  He 
wished  to  effect  upon  his  contemporaries  that  revolution  which 
his  own  soul  had  undergone.  He  wished  to  wake  them  from  their 
long  lethfu'gy  of  servitude ;  to  see  them  thinking,  willing,  striving, 
resisting."  Souls  so  obsessed  with  the  spirit  of  liberty  are  not 
born  to  die. 

Alfieri  published  twenty-one  tragedies,  six  comedies,  one 
"trameloj^edia"  (a  name  invented  by  himself,  and  denoting  a  kind 
of  tragi-oomedy),  one  epic  poem  in  four  cantos,  many  lyrical 
poems,  numerous  sonnets  and  odes,  and  sixteen  satires,  besides 
poetical  translations  of  Virgil  and  Terence,  and  parts  of  Aristo- 
ihanes,  Euripides,  Sophocles  and  Aeschylus.  He  also  wrote  his 
autobiography,  a  work  of  remarkable  excellence.  His  "Misogallo," 
a  memorial  of  his  fierce  hatred  of  France,  was  published  after 
his  death. 

The  inspiration  of  Alfieri  is  pohtical  rather  than  poetic.  His 
more  powerful  works  are  all  designed  to  show  that  the  best  gov- 
ernment is  one  founded  upon  the  consent  of  the  governed.  His 
hatred  of  arbitrary  power  was  almost  sublime  in  its  intensity. 
The  dedications  of  some  of  his  dramas  are  as  remarkable  as  any- 
thing contained  in  the  plays.  "The  First  Brutus"  was  dedicated 
to  George  Washington,  then  in  a  few  months  to  become  the  first 
president  of  the  United  States.     It  reads  as  follows: 

"The  name  of  the  Deliverer  of  America  alone  can  stand  in 
the  title  page  of  the  tragedy  of  the  Deliverer  of  Rome. — To 
you,  most  excellent  and  most  rare  Citizen,  I  dedicate  that;  with- 
out first  hinting  at  even  a  part  of  the  so  many  praises  due  to  your- 
self, which  I  now  deem  all  comprehended  in  the  sole  mention  of 
your  name.  Nor  can  this  my  slight  allusion  appear  to  you  con- 
'taminated  by  adulation;  since,  not  knowing  you  by  person,  and 
living  disjoined  from  you  by  the  immense  ocean,  we  have  but 
too  emphatically  nothing  in  common  between  us  but  the  love  o 
glory.     Happy  are  you,  who  have  been  able  to  build  your  glory 


ALFIERI  99 

on  the  sublime  and  eternal  basis  of  love  to  your  country,  demon- 
strated by  actions.  1,  though  not  born  free,  yet  having  abandoned 
in  time  my  Lares,  and  for  no  other  reason  than  that  I  miglr 
be  able  to  write  loftily  of  Liberty — I  hope  by  this  means  at  least 
to  have  proved  what  might  have  been  my  love  of  country,  if  1 
had  indeed  fortunately  belonged  to  one  that  deserved  the  name. 
In  this  single  respect,  I  do  not  think  myself  wholly  .  unworthy 
to  mingle  my  name  with  yours." 

The  dedication  of  his  "Agis"  was  to  Charles  L  of  England 
— or,  rather,  to  the  shade  of  that  unfortunate  prince —  and  in  it 
he  excor'r.tes  the  British  monarch  most  unmercifully. 

A  fair  specimen  of  his  stern  and  simple  style  is  the  follow- 
ing excei-pt  from  "The  First  Brutus,"  where  the  'oody  of  the 
murdered  Lucretia  is  brought  into  the  Forum: 

"Briuus. — Then  listen  now  to  Brutus.    The  same  dagger 
Which  from  her  dying  side  he  lately  drew, 
Brutus  now  lifts ;  and  to  all  Rome  he  swears 
That  which  first  on  her  very  dying  form 
He  swore  already. — While  I  wear  a  sword, - 
While  vital  air  I  breathe,  in  Rome  henceforth 
No  Tarquin  e'er  shall  put  his  foot — I  swear  it ; 
Nor  the  abominable  name  of  king. 
Nor  the  authority,  shall  any  man 
Ever  again  possess. — May  the  just  gods 
Annihilate  him  here,  if  Brutus  is  not 
Lofty  and  true  of  heart !— Further  1  swear, 
Many  as  are  the  inhabitants  of  Rome, 
To  make  them  equal,  free,  and  citizens ; 
Myself  a  citizen  and  nothing  more. 
The  laws  alone  shall  have  authority, 
And  I  will  be  the  first  to  yield  them  homage." 

Noble  sentiments  these,  and  nobly  expressed.  If  lacking  in 
poetic  beuuty,  they  at  least  lack  nothing  in  patriotic  fervor.    But 


100  ALFIERI 

beauty  Alfieri  does  possess,  and  that,  too,  in  a  high  degree;  but 
it  is  the  statuesque  beauty  of  cold  marble,  graceful  in  repose ;  his 
lofty  ideals,  devoid  of  ornament,  rigid  and  unbending  as  the 
sculptor's  stone.  In  his  essay  on  Lord  Byron,  Macaulay  draws 
a  paralle'  between  Alfieri  and  Cowper.  "In  their  hatred  of 
meretricious  ornament,"  says  he,  "and  of  what  Cowper  calls 
^creamy  smoothness,'  they  erred  on  the  opposite  side.  Their 
style  was  too  austere,  their  versification  too  harsh.  ^  ^  "^  The 
intrinsic  value  of  their  poems  is  considerable.  But  the  example 
which  they  set  of  mutiny  against  an  absurd  system  was  invalu- 
able. The  part  which  they  performed  was  rather  that  of  Moses 
than  that  of  Joshua.  They  opened  the  house  of  bondage;  but 
they  did  not  enter  the  promised  land." 

In  Florence  Alfieri  met  the  Countess  of  Albany,  wife  ol 
Charles  Edward  Stewart,  the  British  Pretender,  end  won  fror 
Charles  the  heart  of  his  queen.  The  infatuation  was  mutual,  and 
after  the  death  of  the  Pretender,  she  lived  with  Alfieri,  until  his 
death.  His  ashes,  and  those  of  the  woman  he  loved,  now  repose 
in  the  church  of  Santa  Croce,  in  P"'lorence,  between  the  tombs  of 
Michelangelo  and  Machiavelh. 


PART  FOUR. 


GREAT    SPANISH  AND 
PORTUGESE  AUTHORS 


I.  LOPE  DE   VEGA 

II.  CERVANTES 

III.  CAMOENS 

.  .  -     _         ■         .         .   » 

IV.  QUEYEPO 

V.  THE    ARGENSOLAS 

VI.  VILLEGAS 

VII.  MONTALVO 

VIII.  GUILLEN  DE  CASTRO 

IX.  VICENTE 

X.  CALDERON 


In  no  modern  society  *  *  *  ha«  there  been  so  great 
a  number  of  men  eminent  at  once  in  literature  and  in  the 
pursuits  of  active  life,  as  Spain  produced  during  the  six- 
teenth century.  Almost  every  distinguished  writer  was 
also  distingxiished  as  a  soldier  or  a  politician.  Boscan 
bore  arms  with  high  reputation.  Garcilaso  de  Vega,  the 
author  of  the  sweetest  and  most  graceful  pastoral  poem 
of  modern  times,  after  a  short  but  splendid  military 
career,  fell  sword  in  hand  at  the  head  of  a  storming  party, 
Alonzo  de  Ercilla  bore  a  conspicuous  part  in  the  war  of 
Arauco  which  he  afterwards  celebrated  in  one  of  the  best 
heroic  poems  that  Spain  has  produced.  Hurtado  de  Men- 
doza,  whose  poems  have  been  compared  to  those  of  Horace, 
and  whose  charming  little  novel  is  evidently  the  model 
of  Gil  Bias,  has  been  handed  down  to  us  by  history  as 
one  of  the  sternest  of  those  iron  proconsuls  who  were 
employed  by  the  House  of  Austria  to  crush  the  lingering 
public  spirit  of  Italy.  Lope  sailed  in  the  Armada;  Cer- 
vantes was  wounded  at  Lepanto. 

— Macaulay. 


I-  ■    . 

LOPE   DE   VEGA. 

Lope  Felix  de  Vega  Carpio  (born  1562,  died  1635)  was  in 
many  respects  the  most  splendid  figure  of  the  Golden  Age  of 
Spanish  literature.  In  the  fecundity  of  his  literary  powers  he 
surpasses  every  dramatic  poet  in  the  world's  history.  He  is 
noted  for  the  prodigal  abundance  of  his  overflowing  fancy,  for 
his  phenomenally  rich  imagination,  and  for  an  almost  inconceiv- 
able exuberance  of  invention.  He  exceeded  in  popularity  any 
writer  in  the  Spanish  language,  and  his  fame  has  been  equalled 
by  few  of  any  age  or  country. 

He  was  born  at  Madrid,  and  was  educated  there,  at  the  Im- 
perial College,  and  at  the  University  of  Alcala.  Montalvan  states 
that  he  could  read  both  Latin  and  Spanish  at  the  age  of  five.  He 
began  writing  verses  in  early  childhood.  At  fifteen  he  was  in 
the  army  serving  as  a  soldier  against  the  Portugese.  Later  he 
served  in  the  Spanish  Armada.  Upon  the  defeat  of  the  Armada 
he  returned  to  Spain  and  wrote  his  "La  Dragontea,"  in  epic  form, 
devoted  largely  to  a  fierce  denunciation  of  Sir  Francis  Drake. 
While  with  the  Armada  he  wrote  the  greater  part  of  his  "Her- 
mosura  de  Angelica,"  an  attempted  continuation  of  Ariosto's  "Or- 
lando Furioso,"  in  which  he  vainly  sought  to  vie  with  the  great 
Italian.  His  poem  contains  eleven  thousand  lines,  divided  into 
twenty  cantos.  In  nowise  deterred  by  this  failure,  he  wrote  his 
"Divine  Triumphs."  in  imitation  of  Petrarch,  and  again  he  failed. 
His  next  attempt  to  outdo  Italian  genius  was  in  his  "Jerusalem 
Conquered,"  a  poem  of  22,000  verses,  in  twenty  books,  in  which 
he  sought  to  equal  or  surpass  the  monumental  work  of  Tasso,  but 
again  he  failed.  Indeed,  none  of  his  more  ambitious  poetical 
works  are  particularly  happy.  In  1630  he  published  "The  Laurel 
of  Apollo."  a  poem  upon  the  order  of  Cervantes'  "The  Journey  to 
Parnassus,"  in  which  he  records  the  honors  of  nearly  three  hun- 

101 


102  LOPE  DE  VEGA  j 

dred  Spardsh  poets.  This  poem  contains  about  seven  thousand 
verses,  and  is  distinctly  disappointing. 

Lope  de  Vega's  best  poetry  is  to  be  found  in  some  of  the  oc- 
casional sonnets,  ballads  and  lyrics  which  are  scattered  through- 
out his  works.  Thus,  in  "The  Shepherds  of  Bethlehem,"  in  five 
books,  we  find  these  rare  and  dainty  lines  in  a  lullaby  sung  by  the 
Madonna  to  her  child,  sleeping  beneath  the  palms,  and  they  are 
as  exquisite,  colorful  and  tender  as  a  painting  by  Murillo: 

Holy  angels  and  blest, 
Through  these  palms  as  ye  sweep, 

Hold  their  branches  at  rest, 
For  my  babe  is  asleep. 

And  ye  Bethlehem  palm-trees, 

As  stormy  winds  rush 
In  tempest  and  fury, 

Your  angry  noise  hush; — 
Move  gently,  move  gently, 

Eestrain  your  wild  sweep; 
Hold  your  branches  at  rest, — 

My  babe  is  asleep. 

Here  is  genuine  lyrical  art.  Another  specimen,  in  a  different 
strain,  but  with  the  same  soulful  touch,  is  the  following  from 
"Tome  Burguillos,''  translated  by  Longfellow: 

How  oft  my  guardian  angel  gently  cried, 

"Soul  from  thy  casement  look,  and  thou  shalt  see 

How  He  persists  to  knock  and  wait  for  thee !" 
And,  0 !  how  often  to  that  voice  of  sorrow, 

"To-morrow  we  will  open,"  I  repHed; 
And  when  the  morrow  came  I  answered  still, 
"To-morrow." 


''  LOPE   DE  VEGA  lOa 

But  it  was  in  the  field  of  dramatic  art  that  Lope  de  Vega^ 
found  his  most  congenial  work,  and  here  his  talents  shone  with; 
undimmer^  splendor  during  the  greater  part  of  his  long  and  active' 
life.     The  number  of  his  plays  cannot  now  be  certainly  deter- 
mined, but  it  is  known  to  exceed  1,500,  and  is  probably  nearer  ' 
2,000,  in  addition  to  several  hundred  autos  or  one-act  religious 
plays.     His  plays  may  be  grouped  in  three  classes:     (1)  Spiritual  i 
plays,   including   autos,   and    "Mystery"   and    "Morality"    plays;; 
(2)  heroic  and  historical  comedies  and  tragedies  of  Spanish  life? 
and  history,  and  dramas  upon  classical  subjects;  and  (3)  dramas 
of  every-day  life,  the  famous  "cloak  and  sword"  pieces — capa  y 
espada. 

Bouterwek,  one  of  the  great  German  authorities  on  Spanish: 
literature,  says:  "Arithmetical  calculations  have  been  employed 
in  order  to  arrive  at  a  just  estimate  of  Lope  de  Vega's  facility  in;, 
poetic  composition.  According  to  his  own  testimony,  he  wrote-„ 
on  an  average,  five  sheets  a  day.  It  has  therefore  been  computed 
that  the  number  of  sheets  he  composed  during  his  life  must  have- 
amounted  to  133,225;  and  that,  allowing  for  the  deduction  of  a 
small  portion  of  prose.  Lope  de  Vega  must  have  written  upward 
of  21,300,000  verses.  Nature  would  have  over-stepped  her  bounds 
and  produced  the  miraculous,  had  Lope  de  Vega,  along  with  this 
rapidity  of  invention,  attained  perfection  in  any  department  of 
literature  " 

In  his  very  interesting  biography  of  Lope  de  Vega,  Lord 
Holland  observes:  "The  most  singular  circumstance  attending 
his  verse  is  the  frequency  and  difficulty  of  the  tasks  he  imposes 
on  himself.  At  every  step  we  meet  with  acrostics,  echoes  and 
compositions  of  that  perverted  and  laborious  kind,  from  attempt- 
ing vv^hich  another  author  would  be  deterred  by  the  trouble  of  the- 
undertaking,  if  not  by  the  little  real  merit  attending  the  achieve- 
ment. *  *  *  But  Lope  made  a  parade  of  his  power  over  the  vocabu- 
lary ;  he  Vv'as  not  contented  with  displaying  the  various  order  in 
which  he  could  dispose  the  syllables  and  marshal  the  rhymes  of 
his  language,  but  he  also  prided  himself  upon  the  celerity  with 
which  he  brought  them  to  go  through  the  most  whimsical  but 
the  most  difficult  evolutions.     He  seems  to  have  been  partial  tee- 


104 


LOPE  DE  VEGA 


difficulties  for  the  gratification  of  surmounting  them." 

Cervantes  calls  him  "a  prodigy  of  nature."  Many  times  he 
was  known  to  write  an  entire  drama  within  the  space  of  twenty- 
four  hours.  Not  less  astounding  than  the  prodigious  volume  of 
his  work  is  the  amazing  complexity  of  his  plots.  He  delights  in 
leading  his  characters  through  the  most  intricate  mazes  of  in- 
trigue, flanked  by  counter-plots  and  under-plots  in  endless  variety. 
His  dran  atic  style  is  fresh,  forceful  and  pleasing  and  his  be- 
wildering ingenuity  is  a  charm  that  never  fails.  Ticknor,  in  his 
History  of  Spanish  Literature,  says  that  the  droll,  the  variously 
witty  grncioso,  the  full-blown  parody  of  the  heroic  characters  of 
the  play,  the  dramatic  picaro,  is  solely  the  creation  of  Lope  de 
Vega.  He  gave  it  to  the  Spanish  stage,  thence  it  passed  to  the 
French,  and  then  to  all  the  other  theatres  of  modern  times.  He 
was  likewise  the  first  to  accord  to  woman  her  proper  place  in  the 
drama.  "Hitherto  the  woman  had  been  allotted  a  secondary  and 
incidental  part,  ludicrous  in  the  comedies  and  skits,  sentimental 
in  the  set  piece.  Lope,  the  expert  in  gallantry,  in  manners,  in 
observation,  placed  her  in  her  true  setting  as  an  ideal,  as  the 
mainsprir.g  of  dramatic  motive  and  of  chivalrous  conduct." 

Lope  de  Vega  ignored  the  classical  dramatic  unities,  and 
©ften  wrote  in  utter  defiance  of  all  the  rules  of  dramatic  art. 
"When  I  am  going  to  write  a  play,"  he  says,  "1  lock  up  all  pre- 
cepts, and  cast  Terence  and  Plautus  out  of  my  study,  lest  they 
should  cry  out  against  me,  as  truth  is  wont  to  do,  even  from  such 
dumb  volumes ;  for  I  write  according  to  the  art  invented  by  those 
who  sought  the  applause  of  the  multitude,  whom  it  is  but  just  to 
humor  in  their  folly,  since  it  is  they  who  pay  for  it."  He  says 
that  he  wrote  only  six  plays  that  did  not  "gravely  offend  against 
the  rules."  He  does  not  seek  to  inculcate  any  general  program  of 
morality,  but  merely  depicts  manners  as  he  finds  them.  He  does 
not  seek  to  elevate  the  popular  taste,  but  merely  caters  to  it. 
"Keep  the  explanation  of  the  story  doubtful  till  the  last  scene," 
he  advises ;  "for,  as  soon  as  the  public  know  how  it  will  end,  they 
turn  their  faces  to  the  door  and  their  backs  to  the  stage."  Lope 
knew  his  audience. 


LOPE  DE  VEGA  105 

Lope  de  Vega  is  especially  felicitous  in  some  of  his  lighter 
pieces,  as  in  ''El  Azero  de  Madrid,"  from  which  Moliere  afterward 
borrowed  his  "Medecin  Malgre  Lui."  Lope's  portrayal  of  the  old 
Spanish  duenna,  as  she  accompanies  her  ward  from  church,  and 
attempts  to  prevent  her  speaking  to  her  waiting  lover,  is  charac- 
teristic : 

Theodora:     Show  more  of  gentleness  and  modesty; — 
Of  gentleness  in  walking  quietly. 
Of  modesty  in  looking  only  down 
Upon  the  earth  you  tread.  ^ 

Belisa :     'Tis  what  I  do. 

Theodora:     What?     When  you're  looking   straight  toward 
that  man? 

Belisa :     Did  you  not  bid  me  look  upon  the  earth  ? 
And  what  is  he  but  just  a  bit  of  it? 

Theodora :     I  said  the  earth  whereon  you  tread,  my  niece, 

Belisa:     But  that  whereon  I  tread  is  hidden  quite 
With  my  own  petticoat  and  walking  dress. 

Theodora:     Words  such  as  these  become  no  well  bred  maid. 
But,  by  your  mother's  blessed  memory, 
I'll  put  an  end  to  all  your  pretty  tricks; — 
What  ?    You  look  back  at  him  again  ? 

Belisa:     Who?    I? 

Theodora:     Yes,  you; — and  make  him  secret  signs  besides, 

Belisa :     Not  L     'Tis  only  that  you  troubled  me 

With  teasing  questions  and  perverse  replies, 
So  that  I  stumbled,  and  looked  round  to  see 
Who  would  prevent  my  fall. 

And  so  the  dialogue  proceeds  in  its  airy  flippancy  and  frolicsome 
hum.or — always  Castilian,  and  always  portraying  perfectly  to  de- 
lighted audiences  the  manners  of  the  time. 


106  LOPE   DE   VEGA 

After  the  death  of  his  first  wife,  Lope  de  Vega  married  again. 
Upon  the  death  of  his  second  wife  he  entered  the  priesthood,  and 
became  an  officer  of  the  Spanish  Inquisition.  But  he  did  not 
cease  writing.  When  the  theatre  was  suppressed  by  royal  order, 
Lope  resumed  his  early  practice  of  writing  morality  and  religious 
dramas.  He  was  idolized  by  the  Spanish  populace,  and  when  he 
died  the  ceremonies  attending  his  obsequies  occupied  nine  days. 

No  man  of  letters  was  ever  better  paid  for  his  work  than  was 
Lope  de  Vega.  Montalvan  says  that  he  received  for  his  plays 
eighty  thousand  ducats.  Besides  other  benefactions,  the  Duke 
cf  Sessa  rdone  gave  him,  at  various  times,  twenty-four  thousand 
ducats,  and  a  sfhecure  of  three  hundred  more  per  annum.  •  But 
Lope  was  prodigal  toward  his  friends,  was  charitable  to  a  fault, 
and  was  almost  penniless  when  he  died. 


11. 

CERVANTES. 

Fifteen  years  before  Lope  de  Vega  first  saw  the  light,  there 
was  born,  at  Alcola  de  Henares,  in  October,  1547,  the  greatest 
literary  genius  of  the  Spanish  race,  Miguel  de  Cervantes  Saavedra, 
a  victim  of  adversity,  the  butt  of  sorrow  and  the  child  of  woe; 
but  who  for  all  that,  as  Carlyle  said,  was  the  author  of  "our  joy- 
fullest  modern  book,'*  and,  as  Moore  said  of  Sheridan, 

"Whose  humor,  as  gay  as  the  fire-fly's  light, 

Play'd  round  every  subject  ,  and  shone  as  it  play'd; — 

Whose  wit  in  the  combat  as  gentle,  as  bright. 
Ne'er  carried  a  heart-stain  away  on  its  blade." 

Cervantes  was  among  the  manliest,  the  kindliest  and  gentlest 
of  men.  Whether  we  see  him  in  fierce  battle  with  the  Turks  in 
the  great  sea-fight  of  Lepanto,  for  the  greater  glory  of  God  and 
exaltation  of  Spain ;  or  behold  his  stricken  form,  sorely  wounded 
and  maimed  for  life,  languishing  in  one  of  the  crude  military  hos- 
pitals of  that  age;  or  follow  him  in  his  five  terrible  years  of 
Moorish  slavery  in  Algiers;  or  view  him  through  the  bars  of  a 
Spanish  jail,  undergoing  sentence  for  another's  fault;  always  and 
everywhere  we  find  him  stout  of  heart,  magnanimous  and  true, 
without  taint  of  bitterness  in  his  soul,  and  bravely  smihng 
through  his  tears. 

In  1584,  at  the  age  of  thirty-seven,  and  immediately  follow- 
ing the  publication  of  his  "Galatea," — written,  it  is  said,  to  win 
favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  woman  he  loved — he  was  married  to  a 
young  lady  of  good  family,  but  who,  like  Cervantes,  was  poor,  and 
who  faithfully  shared  his  hardships  during  the  remainder  of  his 
life.  Soon  afterward  he  turned  to  authorship  for  a  livelihood, 
and  devoted  his  talents  to  the  stage.     But  his  dramatic  work,  as 

107 


108  CERVANTES 

a  whole,  was  far  from  satisfactory,  and  his  labors  brought  small 
financial  return.  Even  the  names  of  several  of  his  plays  are  lost. 
The  best  play  of  Cervantes  is  his  "Numancia,"  a  tragedy  founded 
upon  the  fate  of  Numantia,  whose  four  thousand  men  had  re- 
sisted the  onslaught  of  eighty  thousand  Roman  troops.  The 
town  was  reduced  by  famine,  and  when  the  Romans  entered,  not  a 
single  Numantian  was  found  alive.  This  play  has  elicited  praise 
from  A.  W.  von  Schlegel,  Shelly  and  Goethe.  Bouterwek  affirms 
that  it  justifies  the  opinion  that,  in  different  circumstances,  Cer- 
vantes might  have  been  the  Aeschylus  of  Spain. 

Forced  by  scant  financial  success  to  abandon  the  drama,  Cer- 
vantes now  repaired  to  Seville,  to  engage  in  commercial  pursuits, 
but  with  indift'erent  success.  For  a  time  he  collected  revenues 
for  the  government,  but  owing  to  the  default  of  another  he  was 
convicted  and  imprisoned  because  of  a  shortage  in  his  accounts. 
He  then  engaged  to  collect  the  rents  for  a  monastery  in  La 
Mancha,  but  the  debtors  not  only  declined  payment  but  threw 
him  into  jail.  Here,  as  tradition  has  it,  he  began  his  immortal 
story  of  Don  Quixote.  Next  we  find  him  in  Valladolid,  where,  a 
stranger  having  been  killed  near  his  dwelling,  he  was  placed  in 
prison  pending  the  investigation.  But  in  the  midst  of  all  his 
struggles  and  privations  he  was  able  to  continue  his  great  work, 
and  the  First  Part  of  his  Don  Quixote,  licensed  in  1604  at  Valla- 
dolid, was  published  at  Madrid  in  1605.  It  was  his  first  genuine 
literary  success,  and  he  was  now  fifty-eight  years  of  age.  Re- 
turning to  Madrid,  he  published  his  twelve  "Moral  Tales",  which 
have  always  been  favorites  in  Spain,  but  are  little  «nown  abroad. 
In  literary  grace  and  style  they  probably  surpass  Don  Quixote, 
but  are  not  its  equal  as  works  of  invention.  It  1614  he  published 
his  "Jourr.ey  to  Parnassus,"  after  the  manner  of  the  Italian  satire 
of  the  same  name  by  Cesare  Caporali.  But  the  poem  is  almost 
as  worthless  as  the  one  in  the  same  strain  by  Lope  de  Vega.  At 
its  close  he  appends  a  humorous  dialogue  attackmg  I'ne  actors 
who  refused  to  present  his  dramas. 

Cervantes  now  renewed  his  efforts  at  the  drama.  He  suc- 
ceeded no  better  than  before.     In  1615,  ten  years  after  the  publi- 


I 


CERVANTES  109 

cation  of  the  First  Part,  he  pubhshed  the  Second  Part  of  his  Don 
Quixote.  Faihng  health  now  added  its  burdens  to  those  of  pov- 
erty. Death  was  drawing  near.  But  he  had  faced  it  on  many 
a  bloody  field.  He  did  not  quail  before  it  now.  He  met  it  smiling, 
and  unafraid.  Realizing  that  his  end  was  fast  approaching,  he 
rushed  hivS  romance  of  'Tersiles  and  Sigismunda"  to  completion, 
as  a  last  offering  to  the  Count  de  Lemos,  who  had  befriended  him. 
"And  so."  he  concludes  in  the  preface  to  his  last  work,  "farewell 
to  jesting,  farewell  my  merry  humors,  farewell  my  gay  friends, 
for  I  feel  that  I  am  dying,  and  have  no  desire  but  soon  to  see  you 
happy  in  the  other  life." 

On  April  2,  1616,  he  entered  the  order  of  the  Franciscan 
friars.  On  April  18th  he  received  the  sacrament  of  extreme 
unction.  The  next  day  he  wrote  a  dedication  of  his  last  work, 
"marked,  to  an  extraordinary  degree,"  as  one  critic  says,  "with 
his  natural  humor,  and  with  the  solemn  thoughts  that  became  his 
situation."  On  April  23,  1616,  this  brave  and  bhthesome  spirit 
passed  away — on  the  same  day  that  Shakespeare  died,  if  the 
English  and  Spanish  calendars  were  the  same. 

In  1835  a  bronze  statue  of  Cervantes  was  placed  in  the  Plaza 
del  Estamento  at  Madrid.  But  more  lasting  than  bronze  is  the 
monument  which  he  has  erected  to  the  splendor  of  his  own  genius 
and  the  glory  of  Spanish  letters,  in  his  narrative  or  the  adven- 
tures of  the  Sorrowful  Knight  of  La  Mancha,  the  most  singular 
book  of  humor  that  the  world  has  ever  known.  The  "Don  Quix- 
ote" is  wholly  unique.  "The  most  experienced  and  fastidious 
judges,"  says  Macaulay,  "are  amazed  at  the  perfection  of  that 
art  which  extracts  unextinguishable  laughter  from  the  greatest 
of  human  calamaties  without  once  violating  the  reverence  due  to 
it;  at  that  discriminating  delicacy  of  touch  which  makes  a  char- 
acter exquisitely  ridiculous  without  impairing  its  worth,  its  grace, 
or  its  dignity." 

"Cervantes,  Shakespeare  and  Goethe  form  the  triumvirate  of 
poets  who  in  the  three  great  divisions  of  poetry  have  acliieved  the 
greatest  success,"  says  Heinrich  Heine.  Henry  Hallam  says  that 
Don  Quixote  "is  to  Europe  in  general  what  Ariosto  is  to  Italy  and 
Shakespeare  to  England ;  the  one  book  to  which  thf  slightest  allu- 


no  CERVANTES 

sions  ma}^  be  made  without  affectation,  but  not  missed  without 
discredit."  "Numerous  translations,"  he  adds,  "and  countless  edi- 
tions of  them,  in  every  language,  bespeak  its  adaptation  to  man- 
kind; no  critic  has  been  paradoxical  enough  to  withhold  his  ad- 
miration, no  reader  has  ventured  to  confess  a  want  of  relish  for 
that  in  which  the  young  and  old,  in  every  climate,  have,  age  after 
age,  taken  delight." 

M.  Sismondi.  Prof.  Bouterwek  and  Walter  Savage  Landor 
are  among  those  critics  who  take  Don  Quixote  seriously.  There 
are  always  those  who  profess  to  discover  in  the  works  of  genius 
some  hidden  motive,  some  occult  purpose,  some  subcutaneous 
meaning,  Bui  we  do  not  see  why  Cervantes  may  not  be  taken 
at  his  word.  He  says  he  "had  no  other  desire  than  to  render 
abhorred  of  men  the  false  and  absurd  stories  contained  in  books 
of  chivalry."  Certainly  there  was  ample  need  of  this  reform. 
Spanish  love  of  chivalric  romance  amounted  to  an  obsession, 
among  all  classes.  In  1553  these  romances  were  prohibited  by 
law  from  being  sold  in  the  American  colonies.  In  1555  the  Span- 
ish Cortes  demanded  that  all  such  publications  be  suppressed. 
But  the  passion  had  struck  its  roots  deeply.  It  had  become  a' 
national  vice  against  which  legal  acts  and  edicts  hurled  them- 
selves in  vain.  But  the  vogue  of  idle  and  superstitious  tales, 
which  had  persisted  beneath  the  frown  of  government,  melted 
away  before  the  magic  smile  of  Cervantes.  No  more  books  of 
chivalry  made  their  appearance  after  the  publication  of  Don 
Quixote  in  1G05 — "a  solitary  instance,"  as  Ticknor  says,  "of  the 
power  of  genius  to  destroy,  by  a  single  well-timed  blow,  an  entire 
department,  and  that,  too,  a  flourishing  and  favored  one,  in  the 
literature  of  a  great  and  proud  nation."  In  accomplishing  this, 
his  quaint  and  wholesome  humor  has  placed  the  universal  spirit 
of  humanity  under  tribute  to  his  genius.  He  gave  to  the  modern 
world,  moreover,  its  first  classical  specimen  of  the  "single-track 
mind"  operating  in  all  the  transcendental  tomfoolery  of  its  ex- 
aggerated egoism,  the  precursor  of  that  international  paranoia 
grandiosa  which,  garbed  in  the  guise  of  a  meddlesome,  misguided 
and  spurious  altruism,  has  been  the  scourge  and  plague  of  more 
recent  times.  ' 


CERVANTES  HI 

A  most  interesting  feature  of  Don  Quixote  is  the  great  num- 
ber of  its  phrases  which  have  since  grown  into  general  use  as 
proverbs  •  in  which  respect  Cervantes  strongly  resembles  Rablais, 
although  his  humor  is  of  a  more  innocent  and  wholesome  character 
than  that  of  the  French  author.  A  single  phrase  of  this  classical 
Spanish  humor  will  show  both  its  quaintncss  and  its  power: 
"Everyone  is  as  God  made  him,  and  often  a  great  deal  worse." 
(Don  Quixote,  XI.,  5.) 

Spain's  latest  expression  of  gratitude  toward  her  most  gifted 
son  occurred  on  March  6,  1920,  when  King  Alfonso  inaugurated  a. 
"Cervantes  Hall"  in  the  National  Library  at  Madrid,  in  which  a 
collection  of  copies  of  all  the  editions  of  Don  Quixote,  numbering 
more  than  600,  will  be  kept ;  and  twenty  tablets,  representing  sub-- 
jects  of  Cervantes'  writings,  painted  by  Monoz  Degrain,  will  deco- 
rate the  hall.  The  director  of  the  Biblioteca,  Don  Francis  Rod- 
riguez Marin,  furnishes  some  interesting  facts  concerning  the 
various  Cervantes  editions,  the  last  census  of  which  was  made 
by  Martin  del  Rio,  in  19"^  6,  when  it  was  ascertained  that  there 
were  637.  including  the  abridged  editions.  These  were  distributed 
according  to  languages,  as  follows:  Castilian,  252;  French.  121; 
Enghsh,  115;  German,  49:  Dutch,  22;  Itahan,  19;  Swedish,  10; 
Russian..  10;  Portuguese,  6;  Pohsh,  6;  Hungarian,  5;  Catalan,  3; 
Greek,  3;  Danish,  3;  Bohemian,  1 ;  Croatian,  1;  Hindustani,  1,  and 
Polyglot,  1.  Since  this  census  was  made  other  editions  have  been 
discovered  and  acquired,  so  that  the  total  now  reaches  648.  One 
of  the  recently  acquired  editions  is  Norwegian,  while  another  is- 
Hebrevx^-German,  the  gift  of  Dr.  Yahuda.  Two  other  editions  are 
in  Japanese,  the  gift  of  a  cultured  Spaniard,  Don  Juan  C.  Cebrian,. 
of  San  Francisco,  California. 


III. 

CAMOENS. 

The  j/reatest  name  in  the  literary  annals  of  Portugal  is  that 
of  Luiz  de  Camoens,  author  of  the  "Lusiad,"  an  epic  poem  which 
ranks  among  the  really  great  literary  creations  of  the  world,  and 
which  has  securely  won  its  place  in  what  Goethe  calls  the  "welt- 
literatur."  Camoens  wrote  in  both  Portugese  and  Spanish,  but 
Ms  fame  is  erected  upon  his  masterpiece,  "Os  Lusiadas" — liter- 
ally, The  Lusitanians — which  takes  for  its  theme  the  voyage  of 
Vasco  de  Gama  around  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  and  incidentally 
narrates  ^-he  chief  glories  of  the  people  of  Portugal,  the  Lusitanian 
people. 

In  point  of  priority  of  publication,  Camoens'  "Lusiad"  is  the 
first  great  epic  of  modern  times,  having  preceded  the  "Jerusalem" 
of  Tasso  who  flourished  at  about  the  same  time;  although,  to  be 
sure,  critics  are  agreed  that  his  work  is  inferior  to  the  Italian 
masterpiece.  In  the  opinion  of  Hallam,  Camoens,  in  point  of 
fame,  "ranks  among  the  poets  of  the  South  immediately  after  the 
first  names  of  Italy ;  nor  is  the  distinctive  character  that  belongs 
to  the  poetry  of  the  southern  languages  anywhere  more  fully  per- 
ceived than  in  the  Lusiad." 

Probably  the  best  known  of  the  English  translations  of  the 
Lusiad  is  that  of  Mickle.  But,  as  Southey  has  remarked:  "In 
every  language  there  is  a  magic  of  words  as  untranslatable  as  the 
Sesame  in  the  Arabian  tale ;  you  may  retain  the  meaning,  but,  if 
the  wordp.  be  changed,  the  spell  is  lost.  The  magic  has  its  effect 
only  upon  those  to  whom  the  language  is  as  familiar  as  their 
mother-tongue,  hardly,  indeed,  upon  any  but  those  to  whom  it  is 
really  such.  Camoens  possesses  it  in  perfection  ;  it  is  his  peculiar 
excellenc*^.." 

In  a-Jdition  to  his  epic,  Camoens  is  the  author  of  numerous 
odes,  elegies,  sonnets,  satires  and  epistles,  besides  three  comedies 

-  112 


> 


CAMOENS  113 

— "xvmg  ^eleucus/'  "Filidemo"  and  another  modeled  upon  Plautus, 
"Os  Amphitryoes,"  the  same  great  model  so  often  imitated  in 
England  Germany  and  France.  Some  of  his  lyrics  are  written 
with  much  tenderness  and  beauty,  and  with  a  facile  sweetness  of 
expressior.;  a  kind  of  langorous  softness  and  melancholy  mildness 

which  are  well  portrayed  in  this  bit  of  mellifluous  verse  on  a  con- 
cealed but  unhappy  passion : 

De  dentro  tengo  mi  mal, 
Que  de  fora  no  ay  senal. 

Mi  nueva  y  dulce  querella 
Es  invisible  a  la  gente:  ' 

El  alma  sola  la  siente, 
Qu'  el  cuerpo  no  es  dino  della: 
Como  la  viva  sentella 
S'  encubre  en  el  pedernal, 
De  dentro  tengo  mi  mal. 

Within,  within,  my  sorrow  lives, 
But  outwardly  no  token  gives. 
*  All  young  and  gentle  in  the  soul. 

All  hidden  from  men's  eyes, 
Deep,  deep  within  it  lies. 

And  scorns  the  body's  low  control. 
As  in  the  flint  the  hidden  spark 
Gives  outwardly  no  sign  or  mark. 
Within,  within,  my  sorrow  lives. 

Another  characteristic  specimen  is  his  beautiful  Spanish  ballad, 
beginninf^, — 

Irme  quiero,  madre, 
A  aquella  galera, 
Con  el  marino 
A  ser  marinera. 
I  long  to  go,  dear  mother  mine. 

Aboard  yon  galley  fair, 
With  that  young  sailor  that  I  love, 
His  sailor  life  to  share. 


114  CAMOENS 

"Most  of  his  sonnets,"  says  the  German  scholar  Bouterwek, 
in  his  History  of  Portugese  Literature,  "have  love  for  their  theme, 
and  they  are  of  very  unequal  merit ;  some  are  full  of  Petrarchic 
tenderness  and  grace,  and  moulded  with  classic  correctness; 
others  are  impetuous  and  romantic,  or  disfigured  by  false  learn- 
ing, or  full  of  tedious  pictures  of  the  conflicts  of  passion  with  rea- 
son. Upon  the  whole,  however,  no  Portugese  poet  has  so  cor- 
rectly seized  the  character  of  the  sonnet  as  Camoens."  Notwith- 
standing faults*  that  are  obvious,  the  "Lusiad"  contains  beauties 
which  distinguish  it  clearly  as  the  work  of  a  master.  There  is  a 
certain  clarity  of  narration  and  transparency  of  style  which  the 
reader  cannot  fail  to  note.  There  are  likewise  bold  and  lofty 
flights  of  imagination,  such  as  that  which  calls  forth  the  genius 
of  the  river  Ganges,  appearing  to  King  Emanuel  of  Portugal,  in  a 
dream,  inviting  that  Prince  to  discover  its  secret  origins ;  and,  in 
the  fifth  canto,  the  noble  concept  of  the  "Spirit  of  the  Cape,"  the 
guardian  genius  of  those  uncharted  seas,  rising  in  tempests  from 
the  deep,  to  warn  the  daring  mariners,  as  they  rounded  Good 
Hope,  that  they  should  proceed  no  farther.  This  is  said  to  be 
one  of  the  most  celebrated  and  striking  figures  to  be  found  in 
modern  literature. 

Camoens  lived  from  1524  to  1579.  His  life  was  divided 
'twixt  love  and  war.  In  his  early  manhood  he  was  welcomed  at 
the  court  of  Lisbon.  Here  he  conceived  an  attachment  for  one  of 
the  Queen's  ladies  of  honor.  He  was  banished  from  the  court 
and  separated  from  the  lady  he  loved.  From  that  time  forth,  he 
spent  the  greater  part  of  his  life  in  foreign  wars,  a  voluntary 
exile  froHi  the  land  he  cherished  and  which  his  great  works  have 
so  signally  honored.  Returning  after  years  of  wandering,  he 
presented  his  noble  epic  to  King  Sebastian,  and  was  given  a  paltry 
pension  of  about  twenty  dollars !  He  lived  for  a  few  years,  with 
his  old  mother,  and  then  passed  away  unnoticed,  in  a  public  hos- 
pital. 


IV. 
QUEVEDO. 

Born  at  Madrid  in  1580,  a  contemporary  of  Lope  de  Vega  and 
Cervante.^.  Francisco  Gomez  de  Quevedo  y  Villegas  was  the  first 
great  sathist  of  modern  times.  He  was  a  man  of  profound  erudi- 
tion, beinji-  deeply  versed  in  both  civil  and  canon  law,  mathematics 
and  medicine,  a  graduate  in  theology,  and  a  master  of  Hebrew, 
Arabic,  Greek,  Latin  and  Italian.  He  was  a  cripple,  and  also  suf- 
fered from  defective  eyesight. 

In  early  life  he  fought  a  duel  in  defense  of  a  woman,  and  slew 
his  opponent,  who  happened  to  be  a  person  of  rank.  He  then  fled 
to  Sicily,  and  entered  the  service  of  the  viceroy,  the  Duke  of 
Ossuna,  for  whom  he  conducted  many  important  diplomatic  nego- 
tiations. Later  he  became  minister  of  finance  at  Naples,  and  fur- 
ther dist'nguished  himself  in  diplomacy,  conducting  successful 
negotiations  with  Savoy,  Venice  and  Rome.  Quevedo  discharged 
all  his  pubhc  offices  with  marked  credit  to  himself  and  his  coun- 
try. But,  with  the  fall  of  his  patron,  the  great  Duke  of  Ossuna, 
he  was  exiled. 

When  again  recalled  to  favor  at  the  court  of  Spain,  Quevedo 
refused  office,  declining,  respectively,  the  posts  of  Secretary  of 
State  and  Ambassador  to  Genoa,  having  determined  to  give  him- 
self up  wholly  to  letters.  Suspected  of  having  written  some 
anonymous  verses  against  the  king,  he  was  suddenly  seized  and 
spirited  away  to  prison,  where  he  languished  for  several  years, 
although  he  was  known  to  be  innocent  of  the  trifling  charge 
against  him.  His  persecution  was  due  to  the  implacable  enmity 
of  the  cruel  Duke  of  Olivares,  to  whom  he  wrote  a  pathetic  letter 
in  which  he  said:  "No  clemency  can  add  many  years  to  my  life; 
no  rigor  can  take  many  away."  His  health,  indeed,  was  broken 
beyond  all  hope  of  cure.  But  he  did  not  secure  his  liberty  until 
Olivares  was  driven  from  power. 

115 


116  QUEVEDO 

Quevedo  wrote  everything,  from  methaphysics  to  Gypsey 
ballads.  He  suffered  much,  and  he  suffered  innocently;  and  he 
died  a  ruined,  broken,  embittered  and  disappointed  man.  On  his 
death-bed  he  requested  that  nearly  all  his  works  be  suppressed. 
His  works  are  published  in  eleven  volumes,  three  of  poetry,  and 
eight  of  prose.  He  translated  Epictetus,  parts  of  Plutarch,  Seneca, 
and  Anacreon,  and  wrote  much  in  the  manner  of  Juvenal  and 
Persius. 

In  addition  to  his  acquired  culture,  Quevedo  was  a  man  of 
extraordinary  natural  endowments.  Some  of  his  religious  and 
love  poem.s  are  full  of  beauty  and  tenderness.  But  his  principal 
works  are  in  prose,  and  his  satirical  prose  works  are  his  best. 
His  "Paul  the  Sharper"  has  been  translated  into  English,  French, 
German  and  Italian.  His  "Visions"  have  won  for  him  a  world- 
wide fame.  An  English  version,  by  L'Estrange,  won  great  popu- 
larity in  the  seventeenth  century. 

Quevedo  hurled  the  shafts  of  his  cutting  ridicule  against  the 
current  literary  affectation  known  as  "Cultismo,"  then  at  the 
height  of  its  folly.  With  terrible  bitterness  he  inveighed  against 
the  vices  of  the  times.  But  he  lacked  Cervantes'  fine  sense  of 
the  ridiculous.  He  was  endowed  with  marvelous  wit,  but  there 
was  too  much  bitterness  in  his  soul  to  develop  a  kindly  sense  of 
humor.  His  truculent 'sarcasm,  galling  satire  and  biting  irony 
could  infuriate  but  it  could  not  destroy.  The  following  is  from 
his  "Vision"  of  the  Day  of  Judgment: 

"But  when  it  was  fairly  understood  of  all  that  this  was  the 
Day  of  J'.idgment.  it  was  worth  seeing  how  the  voluptuous  tried 
to  avoid  having  their  eyes  found  for  them,  that  they  need  not 
bring  into  court  witnesses  against  themselves, — how  the  mali- 
cious tried  to  avoid  their  own  tongues,  and  how  robbers  and  as- 
sassins seemed  willing  to  wear  out  their  feet  running  away  from 
their  hands.  And  turning  partly  round,  I  saw  one  miser  asking 
another  ^^  hether^  because  the  dead  were  to  rise  that  day,  certain 
money-bags  of  his  must  also  rise.  I  should  have  laughed  heartily 
at  this,  if  I  had  not,  on  the  other  side,  pitied  the  eagerness  with 
which  a  great  rout  of  notaries  rushed  by,  flying  from  their  own 
ears,  in  order  to  avoid  hearing  what  awaited  them,  though  none 


QUEVEDO  117 

succeeded  in  escaping,  except  those  who  in  this  world  had  lost 
their  ears  as  thieves,  which,  owing  to  the  neglect  of  justice,  was 
by  no  means  the  majority.  But  what  I  most  wondered  at  was  to 
see  the  bodies  of  two  or  three  shop-keepers,  that  had  put  on  their 
souls  wrong-side  out,  and  crowded  all  five  of  their  senses  under 
the  nails  of  their  right  hands." 


V. 
THE   ARGENSOLAS. 

Seldom  has  the  hterature  of  any  nation  presented  the  work 
of  two  brothers  attaining  such  eminence  as  the  Argensola 
brothers,  Bartolomeo  Leonardo  (born  1566,  died  1633)  and  Lu- 
percio  Leonardo  (born  1565,  died  1613),  both  of  vrhom  reached 
high  rani   in  Spanish  letters. 

Bartolomeo  was  alm.oner  to  the  Empress  Maria,  widow  of 
Maximilian  IL,  and  when  his  brother  Lupercio  died  he  took  his 
place  as  Historiographer  of  Aragon.  Pope  Paul  XL  appointed 
him  canon  of  the  Cathedral  in  Saragossa.  The  following  sonnet, 
on  "Providence"  (translation  by  Herbert)  is  in  his  characteristic 
manner: 

"Parent  of  good !    Since  all  thy  laws  are  just, 
Say,  why  permits  thy  judging  Providence 
Oppression's  hand  to  bow  meek  Innocence, 
And  gives  prevailing  strength  to  Fraud  and  Lust; 
Who  steels  with  stubborn  force  the  arm  unjust, 
That  proudly  wars  against  Omnipotence  ? 
Who  bids  thy  faithful  sons,  that  reverence 
Thine  holy  will,  be  humbled  in  the  dust  ?" — 
Amid  the  din  of  Joy  fair  Virtue  sighs, 
While  the  fierce  conqueror  binds  his  impious  head 
With  laurel,  and  the  car  of  triumph  rolls. — 
Thus  I,  when  radiant  'fore  my  wondering  eyes 
A  heavenly  spirit  stood,  and  smiling  said: 
"Blind  moralist !  is  Earth  the  sphere  of  souls  ?" 

Lupercio  wrote  three  tragedies  which  won  high  praise  from 
Cervantes,  and  was  also  the  author  of  many  canzones,  satires  and 
sonnets,  which  have  been  published  with  the  poems  of  his  brother. 
"Both  bmthers,"  says  Ticknor,  "are  to  be  placed  high  in  the  list 
of  Spanish  lyric  poets;  next,  perhaps,  after  the  great  masters. 
The  elder  shows,  on  the  whole,  more  original  power;  but  he  left 
only  half  as  many  poems  as  his  brother  did."     Speaking  of  the 

118 


THE   ARGENSOLAS  119 

purity  of  their  s\vle  Lope  de  Vega  says:     "It  seems  as  though 
they  had  come  from  Aragon  to  reform  Castihan  verse."     The 
genius  of  the  brothers  was  much  ahke ;  scarcely  distinguishable  in 
their  work,  as  the  English  critic,  Hallam,  thinks ;  but  the  German 
Bouterwek  assigns  a  higher  place  to  Bartolomeo,  and  in  this  view- 
he  is  supported  by  Dieze,  another  great  German  authority,  who 
thinks  that  the  eulogy  of  Nicolas  Antonio   on  these  brothers, 
although  in  rather  extravagant  terms,  is  fully  merited  by  them. 
Lupercio's  "Mary  Magdalen,"  which  follows   (translation  by 
Bryant)  is  one  of  the  finest  specimens  of  Spanish  lyrical  verse: 
Blessed,  yet  sinful  one,  and  broken-hearted! 
The  crowd  are  pointing  at  the  thing  forlorn. 
In  wonder  and  in  scorn 
Thou  weepest  days  of  innocence  departed, 

Thou  weepest,  and  thy  tears  have  power  to  move 
The  Lord  to  pity  and  to  love. 

The  greatest  of  thy  follies  is  forgiven 

Even  for  the  least  of  all  the  tears  that  shine 
On  that  pale  cheek  of  thine. 
Thou  didst  kneel  down  to  Him  who  came  from  heaven. 
Evil  and  ignorant,  and  thou  shalt  rise 
Holy,  and  pure,  and  wise. 

It  is  not  much  that  to  the  fragrant  blossom 
The  ragged  briar  should  change ;  the  bitter  fir 
Distil  Arabia's  myrrh; 
Nor  that,  upon  the  wintry  desert's  bosom. 

The  harvest  should  rise  plenteous,  and  the  swain 
Bear  home  abundant  grain. 

But  come  and  see  the  bleak  and  barren  mountains 
Thick  to  their  top  with  roses ;  come  and  see 
Leaves  on  the  dry,  dead  tree : 
The  perished  plant,  set  out  by  hving  fountains, 
•  Grows  fruitful,  and  its  beauteous  branches  rise 

Forever  toward  the  skies. 


VI.  " 

VILLEGAS. 

A  follower  of  the  Argensolas,  and  whose  youth  had  moved 
with  admiration  in  their  footsteps,  as  he  often  boasted,  was  Este- 
van  Manuel  de  Villegas,  called  by  Dieze  "the  Spanish  Anacreon, 
the  poet  of  the  Graces."  He  is,  as  this  German  authority  says, 
"one  of  the  best  lyric  poets  of  Spain,  excellent  in  the  various 
styles  he  has  performed,  but,  above  all,  in  his  odes  and  songs. 
His  origirsal  poems  are  full  of  genius.  His  translations  of  Horace 
and  Anacreon  might  often  pass  for  original.  Few  surpass  him 
in  harmony  of  verse."  (Geschichte  der  Spanischen  Dichtkunst, 
p.  210.) 

Villegas  wrote  much  of  his  verse  before  he  had  reached  the 
age  of  fourteen,  and  published  the  greater  part  of  it  before  he 
was  twenty-one.  Owing  to  his  youthful  conceit  and  indiscretion 
J  he  made  the  mistake  of  attacking  Cervantes,  Quevedo  and  Lope 
de  Vega  in  his  very  first  edition.  This  unfortunate  bit  of  imper- 
tinence plagued  him  throughout  his  life  and  has  had  a  tendency 
to  mar  his  reputation  ever  since. 

Villegas  was  born  in  1596.  He  was  married  in  1626,  and 
thereafter  practically  abandoned  the  field  of  letters  for  the  less 
congenial  profession  of  the  law,  which  he  was  obliged  to  follow 
for  a  livelihood.  In  his  mature  years  it  appears  that  he  attempted 
little  or  nothing  worth  w^hile  in  the  field  of  poetry,  although  he 
prepared  a  few  essays  on  ancient  authors  and  translated  Boethius' 
"Consolations  of  Philosophy"  into  what  is  generally  regarded  as 
a  classical  specimen  of  Castilian  prose.  He  died  in  1669,  after  a 
life  of  poverty,  and  Avithout  having  achieved  the  Hterary  honors 
which  he  coveted,  or  attained  the  material  resources  he  so  sorely 
needed.  He  must  have  known,  instinctively,  the  quality  and  value 
cf  his  work,  and  had  he  been  content  to  herald  it  forth  with  some- 
what less  of  bravado,  his  own  generation  might  have  recognized 

120 


VILLEGAS  -  121 

his  worth,  and  he  might  not  have  died  an  unhappy  and  a  disap- 
pointed man.  An  author  cannot  speak  for  his  work;  his  work 
muiit  spesk  for  him. 

We  have  nothing  in  Enghsh  which  can  be  at  all  compared 
with  his  imitations  of  Anacreon.  His  imitations  of  Horace  and 
Catullus  and  Petrarch  are  not  less  amazing.  Buuterwek,  a  recog- 
nized authority,  declares :  'The  graceful  luxuriance  of  the  poetry 
of  Villegas  has  no  parallel  in  modern  literature;  and,  generally 
speaking,  no  modern  writer  has  so  well  succeeded  in  blending  the 
spirit  of  ancient  poetry  with  the  modern." 

In  h?'s  "History  of  Spanish  Literature,"  Mr.  Ticknor  thus 
speaks  of  Villegas'  imitations  of  Anacreon:  "They  give  such  a 
faithful  impression  of  the  native  sweetness  of  Anacreon  as  is  not 
easily  foi.nd  elsewhere  in  modern  literature."  The  reader  will 
share  with  Mr.  Ticknor  his  conclusion :  "We  close  the  volume  of 
Villegas,  therefore,  with  sincere  regret  that  he,  who,  in  his  boy- 
hood, could  writq^poetry  so  beautiful, — poetry  so  imbued  with  the 
spirit  of  antiquitj ,  and  yet  so  full  of  the  tenderness  of  modern 
feeling ;  so  classically  exact,  and  yet  so  fresh  and  natural, — should 
have  survived  its  publication  above  forty  years  without  finding 
an  interval  when  the  cares  and  disappointments  of  the  world  per- 
mitted him  to  return  to  the  occupations  that  made  his  youth 
happy,  and  that  have  preserved  his  name  for  a  posterity  of  which, 
when  he  first  Hsped  in  numbers,  he  could  hardly  have  had  a  seri- 
ous thought." 


VII. 
MONTALVO. 

r 

To  Garcia  Ordonez  de  Montalvo,  governor  of  the  city  of 
Medina  del  Camiio,  we  owe  the  earhest  extant  version  of  the 
"Amadis  de  Gaula,"  which  during  a  period  of  two  hundred  years 
was  the  n  ost  popular  prose  romance  of  Christendom.  He  trans- 
lated the  tale  from  the  Portugese  between  1492  and  1504,  and 
added  to  it  a  composition  of  his  own,  the  fanciful  story  of  "Esplan- 
dian,"  a  r,on  of  Amadis.  Montalvo  flourished  in  the  latter  part 
of  the  fifteenth  century.  Beyond  these  facts,  little  or  nothing 
is  known  of  him. 

Although  French  and  English  scholars  have  claimed  for  their 
respective  hteratures  the  honor  of  originating  the  Amadis,  those 
honors  belong  to  Spain  aad  Portugal.  Ayala,  the  Spanish  Chan- 
cellor who  was  the  first  Spanish  translator  of*Livy,  a  cautious, 
truthful,  learned  and  sagacious  man,  mentions  the  Amadis.  Ayala 
died  in  1407.  Zurara,  keeper  of  the  Archives  of  Portugal  in  1454, 
says  that  "the  book  of  Amadis"  was  "made  entirely  at  the  pleas- 
ure of  one  man,  called  Vasco  De  Lobeira,  in  the  time  of  King  Don 
Ferdinand ;  all  the  things  in  the  said  book  being  invented  by  its 
author."  Lobeira  died  in  1403.  His  manuscript  is  now  no  longer 
extant,  ^vA  we  know  his  work  only  through  Montalvo,  his  Spanish 
translato^\  The  Portugese  manuscript  was  known  to  exist  in  the 
archives  of  the  Dukes  of  Arveiro,  at  Lisbon,  as  late  as  the  year 
1750.  But  from  that  time  we  know  nothing  further  in  regard  to 
it,  and  it  was  possibly  lost  in  the  Lisbon  earthquake,  which  de- 
stroyed the  palace  of  the  family  of  Arveiro  in  1755. 

The  Amadis  was  translated  into  Italian  as' early  as  1546.  In 
1560  Bernardo  Tasso,  father  of  the  great  author  of  the  "Jerusa- 
lem Delivered,"  published  his  poem  "Amadigi,''  which  was  made 
up  almost  entirely  of  materials  taken  from  the  Spanish  romance. 
The  brilli:.nt  author  of  the  Jerusalem  himself  likewise  praised  the 

122 


MONTALVO  123 

great  Spanish  and  Portugese  story  in  the  following  language: 
"In  the  opinion  of  many,  and  particularly  in  my  own  opinion,  it 
is  the  most  beautiful,  and  perhaps  the  most  profitable,  story  of 
its  kind  that  can  be  read,  because,  in  its  sentiment  and  tone,  it 
leaves  all  others  behind  it,  and,  in  the  variety  of  its  incidents, 
yields  to  none  written  before  or  since."  Six  editions  of  the 
Amadis  were  published  in  Italy  in  less  than  thirty  years.  In 
France  the  first  translation  was  published  in  1540,  followed  by 
other  editions  without  number.  The  first  Enghsh  translation  was 
in  1619. 

Montalvo  intimates  that  his  Spanish  rendition  of  the  romance 
is  much  better  than  its  Portugese  original.  At  any  rate,  it  is  a 
compact  work  of  the  imagination,  not  military  like  the  story  of 
Charlemagne,  nor  religious  like  the  story  of  Arthur  and  the  Holy 
Grail,  but  merely  delineating  the  trials,  the  adventures  and  the 
virtues  of  a  perfect  knight,  the  currents  of  whose  life  and  love 
are  crossod  by  imnnrierable  giants,  magicians  and  wicked  knights, 
but  over  all  whom  he  finally  triumphs  and  v/ins  the  hand  and 
heart  of  his  beloved  Oriana. 

The  Am.adis  is  written  in  simple  style,  and  often  exhibits 
passages  of  great  tenderness  and  beauty,  such  as  those  which  de- 
velop the  love  of  Oriana  and  the  "Child  of  the  Sea."  What  Cer- 
vantes thought  of  the  Amadis  is  recorded  in  Part  I.  of  Don 
Quixote.  When  the  barber,  the  housekeeper  and  the  curate  began 
to  expurgate  the  library  of  Don  Quixote,  the  first  book  taken  from 
the  shelf  was  the  Amadis  de  Gaula. 

"  There  is  something  mysterious  about  this  miatter,'  said  the 
Curate;  'for,  as  I  have  heard,  this  was  the  first  book  of  knight 
errantry  that  was  printed  in  Spain,  and  all  the  others  have  had 
their  origin  and  source  here,  so  that,  as  the  arch-heretic  of  so 
mischievous  a  sect,  I  think  he  should,  without  a  hearing,  be  con- 
demned to  the  fire.'  'No,  sir,'  said  the  barber,  'for  I,  too,  have 
heard  that  it  is  the  best  of  all  the  books  of  its  kind  that  have  been 
written,  and  therefore,  for  its  singularity,  it  ought  to  be  forgiven.' 
'That  is  t>:e  truth,'  answered  the  curate,  'and  so  let  us  spare  it  for 


124  MONTALVO 

the  present'."  A  decision  which,  upon  the  whole,  as  one  critic 
observes,  has  been  confirmed  by  posterity,  "and  precisely  for  the 
reason  that  Cervantes  assigned." 

Montalvo's  continuation  of  the  Amadis  in  the  story  of  Esplan- 
dian  is  devoid  of  interest.  Other  additions  were  made  by  later 
authors,  for  the  most  part  worthless,  until  the  Amadis  stories 
reached  the  immense  proportion  of  twenty-six  books.  And  then 
Duverdier  capped  the  climax  by  bringing  the  broken  threads  of 
these  stories  together  in  seven  volumes,  entitled  ''Roman  des 
Romanes,'" — Romance  of  Romances.  So  ends  the  history  of  the 
Portugese  type  of  Amadis  of  Gaul,  an  eminent  authority  on  Span- 
ish literature  rem.arks,  as  it  was  originally  presented  to  the  world 
in  the  Spanish  romances  of  chivalry ;  "a  fiction  which,  considering 
the  passionate  admiration  it  so  long  excited,  and  the  influence  it 
has,  with  little  m.erit  of  its  own,  exercised  on  the  poetry  and  ro- 
mances of  modern  Europe  ever  since,  is  a  phenomenon  that  has 
no  parall.:!  in  literary  history." 


•:^  :  -  VIII. 

GUILLEN   DE   CASTRO. 

Born  of  a  noble  family  in  Valencia  in  1569,  in  his  native  city- 
Guillen  de  Castro  early  became  distinguished  as  a  man  of  letters. 
His  life,  however,  was  not  wholly  devoted  to  literature.  At  one 
time  he  held  a  place  in  the  government  of  the  viceroy  of  Naples. 
At  another  time  we  find  him  serving  as  a  captain  of  Cavalry. 
Cervantes  speaks  of  him  as  one  of  the  popular  dramatic  authors 
of  his  day.     He  died  in  poverty  in  1631. 

Guillen  de  Castro  was  a  personal  friend  of  Lope  de  Vega, 
whose  manner  of  dramatic  composition  he  followed.  Aside  from 
twenty-seven  or  twenty-eight  of  his  dramas,  very  few  of  his 
works  h,.ve  been  published.  He  dramatized  a  part  of  "Don 
Quixote,"  and  th'.s  drama  was  translated  into  French  as  early  as 
1638,  when  it  was  brought  on  the  French  stage  by  Guerin  de 
Bouscal.  His  "Santa  Barbara"  was  imitated  by  Calderon  in  the 
"Wonderworking  Magician." 

But  Castro's  chief  service  to  the  literature  of  Europe  lay  in 
his  adaptation  and  di  amatization  of  the  old  anonymous  metrical 
romance  of  "The  Cid  "  This  drama  is  entitled  "Las  Mocedades 
del  Cid"-  -The  Youth,  or  Youthful  Adventures,  of  the  Cid.  His 
great  French  contemporary.  Corneille,  made  Castro's  work  the 
basis  of  h?s  own  brilliant  tragedy  of  The  Cid,  a  drama  which  for 
two  hundred  years  fixed  the  character  of  the  stage  throughout 
Europe.  Thus  the  father  of  French  tragedy  owes  much  to  the 
genius  of  his  Spanish  predecessor. 

The  following  passage  from  Castro's  work,  depicting  the 
anxiety  of  the  Cid's  father  who  is  waiting  in  the  twilight  for  his 
heroic  son,  after  the  duel,  is  regarded  as  superior  to  Corneille's 
presentaiJon  of  the  £ame  scene: 


125 


126  GUILLEN  DE  CASTRO 

"The  timid  ewe  bleats  not  so  mournfully, 

It>  shepherd  lost,  nor  cries  the  angry  lion 

With  such  a  fierceness  for  its  stolen  young, 

As  ]  for  Roderic. — My  son !  my  son ! 

Each  shade  I  pass,  amid  the  closing  night, 

Se^ms  stili  to  wear  thy  form  and  mock  my  arms! 

0,  why,  why  comes  he  not?    I  gave  the  sign, — 

I  marked  fhe  spot, — and  yet  he  is  not  here!  , 

Has  he  nedected?    Can  he  disobey? 

It  may  not  be  I    A  thousand  terrors  seize  me. 

Perhaps  some  injury  or  accident 

Has  made  him  turn  aside  his  hastening  step; — 

P  'rhaps  he  may  be  slain,  or  hurt  or  seized. 

The  very  thought  freezes  my  breaking  heart. 

0  holy  Heaveiv  how  many  ways  for  fear 

Can  grief  find  out!— But  Hark!    What  do  I  hear? 

Is  it  his  foot-step?    Can  it  be?    0,  no! 

'Tis  but  the  echo  of  my  grief  I  hear. 

But  hark  again !    Methinks  there  comes  a  gallop 

On  the  flinty  stones.     He  springs  from  off  his  steed !" 

"The  Poem  of  the  Cid,"  covering  nearly  four  thousand  lines, 
upon  which  Castro  bases  his  famous  drama,  is  one  of  the  classics 
of  the  mediaeval  ages,  as  well  as  among  the  earliest  and  most 
characteristic  specimens  of  Spanish  poetry.  The  Gid  was  the 
great  Spanish  hero  of  the  age  of  Chivalry,  and  was  born  in  north- 
western Spain,  about  the  year  1040 — a  quarter  of  a  century  be- 
fore the  Battle  of  Hastings, — and  he  died  at  Valencia  in  1099, 
while  the  knights  of  Christendom  who  followed  Godfry  of  Bouillon 
on  the  First  Crusade  were  planting  the  Christian  standards  upon 
the  walls  of  Jerusalem.  The  Cid  himself  had  devoted  the  greater 
part  of  his  life  to  battling  with  the  Saracens  on  the  Moorish  fron- 
tiers of  Spain  where  for  centuries  Spanish  bravery  held  back  the 
Mohamm.t;dan  advance.  His  name  was  originally  Rodrigo  Diaz, 
and  the  title  of  Cid  came  to  him  in  the  field,  from  the  fact  that 
five  Moo  ish  chieftains  vanquished  by  him  in  a  single  battle 
acknowledged  him.  as  their  Seid,  or  conqueror. 


GUILLEN  DE  CASTRO  .   127 

"The  Poem  of  the  Cid"  is  a  spirited  portrayal  of  Spanish 
Chivalry,  and  a  living  picture  of  the  stirring  times  described. 
It  breathes  the  spirit  of  battle,  and  rings  throughout  with  the 
clang  of  iance  and  shield.  The  reader  may  gain  an  idea  of  its 
chivalric  dash  and  spirit  from  these  lines,  translated  by  J.  Hook- 
man  Frere,  describing  the  scene  at  Alcocer,  where,  besieged  by 
the  Moors,  the  Cid  saved  himself  by  a  bold  sally,  in  which  he  over- 
whelmed the  Moorish  line: 

"Their  shields  before  their  breasts,  forth  at  once  they  go, 
Their  lances  in  the  rest,  levelled  fair  and  low. 
Their  banners  and  their  crests,  waving  in  a  row. 
Their  heads  all  stooping  down  toward  the  saddle-bow; 
The  Cid  was  in  the  midst,  his  shout  was  heard  afar, 
1  am  Ruy  Diaz,  the  champion  of  Bivar ; 
Strike  amongst  them.  Gentlemen,  for  sweet  mercy's  sake !' 
There  where  Bermuez  fought  amidst  the  foe  they  brake, 
Threo  hundred  bannered  knights,  it  was  a  gallant  show. 
Three  hundred  Moors  they  killed,  a  man  with  every  blow ; 
When  they  wheeled  and  turned,  as  many  more  were  slain ; 
You  might  see  them  raise  their  lances,  and  level  them  again." 

The  reader  will  agree  with  Ticknor,  in  his  History  of  Spanish 
Literatur.  when  he  says  concerning  this  poem:  "It  is,  indeed,  a 
work  whuh,  as  we  read  it,  stirs  us  with  the  spirit  of  the  times 
it  describes ;  and  as  we  lay  it  down  and  recollect  the  intellectual 
condition  of  Europe  when  it  was  written,  and  for  a  long  time  be- 
fore, it  seems  certam,  that,  during  the  thousand  years  which 
elapsed  from  the  time  of  the  decay  of  Greek  and  Roman  culture, 
down  to  the  appearance  of  the  'Divinia  Commedia,'  no  poetry  was 
produced  so  original  in  its  tone  or  so  full  of  natural  feeling,  pic- 
turesqueness  and  energy." 

Cast.'-o  was  more  faithful  to  the  incidents  of  the  poem  than 
was  Corn  ei lie,  and  the  great  Frenchman  would  have  been  less  de- 
serving of  the  censure  of  Richelieu  and  the  French  Academy  had 
he  adhered  more  closely  to  his  Spanish  original ;  although,  it  must 
be  confessed  that  in  some  respects  he  has  improved  upon  the 
Spanish  work. 


IX. 
VICENTE. 

In  his  "Literature  of  Europe"  Mr.  Hallam  cites  an  article 
from  the  Biographie  Universelle  in  proof  of  the  statement  that 
the  first  drama  produced  in  modern  Europe  was  by  Gil  Vicente, 
a  Portugese.  It  was  a  spiritual  drama,  and  was  performed  at 
Lisbon  om  the  festival  of  Corpus  Christi,  in  1504.  But  Ticknor 
declares  that  Vicente's  first  drama  was  presented  in  1502. 

The  date  of  Vicente's  birth  is  not  known,  but  he  died  in  1557. 
He  produced  tragedies,  comedies  and  farces,  besides  works  of 
rehgious  devotion.  Ticknor  thinks  that,  taken  together,  they  are 
better  than  anything  else  in  Portugese  literature.  Many  of  his 
plays,  however,  are  written  in  Spanish,  a  language  which  he 
handled  v.ith  equal  facihty.  Ten  of  his  plays  are  in  Castihan, 
fifteen  partly  so,  and  seventeen  in  Portugese.  Vicente  therefore, 
must  be  classed  among  the  great  authors  of  both  Spain  and  Por- 
tugal. 

Joan  de  Barros,  the  Portugese  historian,  writing  in  1785, 
praises  Vicente  for  the  purity  of  his  thought  and  style.  The  real 
power  of  Vicente  lies  in  his  poetry,  or  in  the  poetic  parts  of  his 
dramas.  The  following  verse,  illustrating  his  lyrical  style,  is 
from  Bov/ring's  translation : 

The  rose  looks  out  in  the  valley, 

And  thither  will  I  go, 
To  the  rosy  gale,  where  the  nightingale 
Sings  his  song  of  woe. 

It  is  worthy  of  note  that  in  Gil  Vicente's  poetry  it  is  the  male 
nightingale  which  sings,  and  not  the  female.  Many  of  the  poets 
(Petrarch  Milton  and  Shakespeare  among  them)  have  fallen  into 
the  rather  curious  error  of  causing  the  female  nightingale  to  sing. 
Vicente  appears  to  have  observed  nature  more  closely  than  some 
other  sinters  of  first-rate  powers.     Through  his  lyrical  talents 

128 


VICENTE  -129 

some  of  Vicente's  dramas  are  made  to  serve  a  political  purpose. 
Thus,  when  recruits  are  wanted  for  an  expedition  against  the 
Moors  of  Africa,  he  closes  one  of  his  pieces  with  this  poetical 
exhortat^'on  by  way  of  envoi: 

To  the  field !    To  the  field !  v 

Cavahers  of  emprise! 

Angels  pure  from  the  skies 
Come  to  help  us  and  shield. 
To  the  field !    To  the  field ! 
With  armor  all  bright. 

They  speed  down  the  road. 

On  man  call,  on  God 
To  succor  the  right. 

Gil  Vicente  wrote  many  pastoral  dramas  and  autos.  One  of 
these,  written  about  1503,  was  first  presented  in  the  monastery 
of  Enxobregas,  one  Christmas  morning,  before  the  royal  family. 
It  is  entitled  "The  Auto  of  the  Sibyl  Cassandra,"  and  is  of  interest, 
not  only  as  one  of  the  very  earliest  dramatic  pieces  of  modern 
times,  but  because  of  the  pastoral  elegance  of  some  of  the  lyrics. 
Cassandra,  the  shepherd-maid,  declines  to  marry.  In  the  course 
of  the  play  she  sings  this  song: 

They  say  "  Tis  time,  go  marry !  go !" 
But  ril  no  husband !  not  I !  no ! 
For  I  would  live  all  carelessly, 
■  Amidst  these  hills,  a  maiden  free. 
And  never  ask,  nor  anxious  be, 

Of  wedded  weal  or  woe. 
Yet  still  they  say,  "Go  marry !  go !" 
\.  But  I'll  no  husband !  not  I !  no ! 

So,  Mother,  think  not  I  shall  wed, 
And  through  a  tiresome  life  be  led, 
Or  use,  in  folly's  ways  instead, 

What  grace  the  heavens  bestow. 
Yet  still  they  say,  "Go  marry!  go!" 
But  I'll  no  husband !  not  I !  no !  ....,.- 


130  VICENTE  , 

The  man  has  not  been  born,  I  ween, 
Who  as  my  husband  shall  be  seen; 
And  since  what  frequent  tricks  have  been 

Undoubtedly  I  know, 
In  vain  they  say,  "Go  marry !  go !" 
For  I'll  no  husband !  not  I !  no ! 

Gil  ^  icente  was  the  father  of  the  Portugese  drama,  if  not  of 
the  drarra  of  modern  Europe.  He  was  an  actor  as  well  as  a 
playright,  and  his  children  often  acted  with  him.  His  works 
were  first  collected  and  published  by  his  son,  four  years  after  the 
death  of  Vicente.  A  monumental  edition  was  brought  out  at 
Hamburg,  in  1832. 


X. 
CALDERON. 

The  latest  luminary  of  the  golden  age  of  Spanish  literature 
was  Pedro  Calderon  de  la  Barca,  the  great  rival  and  successor  of 
Lope  de  Vega.  Ke  was  born  January  17,  1600,  and  died  on  the 
Feast  of  Pentecost,  1681,  while  all  Spain  was  ringing  with  his 
religious  plays,  and  while  engaged  in  hterary  work;  "dying," 
according  to  his  friend  De  Solis,  "as  they  say  the  swan  dies,  sing- 
ing." So  great  was  his  fame  that  at  Naples,  Lisbon  and  Rome 
his  death  was  publicly  noted  as  a  national  calamity. 

Like  Corneille,  his  French  contemporary,  Calderon  was  edu- 
cated by  the  Jesuits.  He  served  in  the  Spanish  wars  of  the 
period  and  was  a  favo-rite  at  the  court  of  Madrid.  He  composed 
his  first  hterary  work  when  barely  fourteen  years  of  age,  and  was 
still  writing  when  death  called  him,  at  the  age  of  eighty-one.  He 
was  thirty-five  years  old  when  Lope  de  Vega  died,  and  from  that 
time  forth  he  was  undisputed  master  of  the  Spanish  stage, 

Calderon  is  said  to  have  been  a  man  of  singularly  handsome 
countenance,  courtly  manners,  of  dignified  and  chaste  deportment, 
and  possessed  of  a  voice  of  rare  sweetness,  gentleness  and  beauty. 
No  man  was  more  deeply  or  more  deservedly  beloved  by  his 
contemporaries.  He  was  of  a  most  considerate  and  benevolent 
nature,  and  his  brilliant  successes  did  not  mar  his  meek,  modest, 
pious  and  sunny  spirit.  He  was  firmly  opposed  to  publishing  his 
works,  and  thus  the  task  of  collecting  them  has  been  rendered 
very  difli'.ult.  But  he  wrote  not  less  than  127  plays  and  97  autos. 
No  man  ever  equalled  him  in  the  auto,  or  religious  drama,  and 
from  this  source  alone  he  amassed  a  fortune,  the  whole  of  which 
was  devoted  to  charitable  works. 

The  plots  of  Calderon,  like  those  of  Lope  de  Vega,  are  char- 
acterized by  great  ingenuity.  He  has  been  a  fertile  field  for  the 
dramatists  of  other  countries,  notably  Corneille  in  France,  and 

131 


132  CALDERON 

Gozzi  in  Italy.  Two  of  his  comedies  were  translated  by  the  Earl 
of  Bristol.  Dryden  took  his  "Mock  Astrologer"  from  Corneille, 
who,  in  turn,  borrowed  it  from  Calderon.  His  "El  Principe  Con- 
stante,"  translated  by  A.  W.  Schlegel,  was  brought  out  in  Ger- 
many under  the  auspices  of  Goethe,  and  was  acted  with  great 
success  at  Weimar,  Berlin  and  Vienna.  J.  Schultze  ranks  it  with 
the  "Divinia  Commedia." 

A.  W.  Schlegel,  the  man  who  gave  Shakespeare  to  Germany, 
performed  a  similar  service  for  Calderon,  whose  work,  in  some 
respects,  he  regarded  as  superior  to  that  of  Shakespeare.  It  is 
admitted  that  Schlegel's  German  translation  of  Shakespeare  is 
the  best  m  any  foreign  language,  and  the  same  is  doubtless  true 
of  his  translation  of  Calderon. 

When  Calderon  reached  middle  life  he  joined  a  religious 
order,  and  became  a  priest  of  the  Congregation  of  St.  Peter,  of 
which  he  rose  to  be  the  superior,  and  held  that  sacred  office  dur- 
mg  the  Ip.p-t  fifteer^  years  of  his  life.  "He  knev/  how,"  as  Augus- 
tin  de  Lara  said  of  him,  "to  unite  by  humility  and  prudence,  the 
duties  of  an  obedient  child  and  a  loving  father." 

In  both  his  lyrics  and  his  dramatic  work'^,  Calderon  is  noted 
for  his  moving  tenderness,  the  glowing  enchantment  and  dazzhng 
brilliance  of  his  imagery,  the  preternatural  splendor  of  his  scenic 
effects,  the  superabundance  of  his  vocabulary,  the  rich  variety 
of  his  measures,  the  charming  and  dehcious  melody  of  his  rhyme, 
his  marvelous  fluency  of  versification,  and  the  serene  Castilian 
majesty  of  .his  stvle.  But  few  of  his  lyrical  works  have  survived. 
A  specim.en  of  his  simple  and  tender  lyrical  style  is  the  poem,  in 
ballad  measure,  of  which  the  burden  is  '0  dulce  Jesus  mio,  no 
entres,  Senor,  con  vuestro  siervo  en  juicio!"    Two  stanzas  follow: 

How  much  resembles  here  our  birth 

The  final  hour  of  all! 
Weeping  at  first  we  see  the  earth, 
And  weeping  hear  death's  call. 
0,  spare  me,  Jesus,  spare  me.  Savior  dear. 
Nor  meet  thy  servant  as  a  judge  severe!  \    , 


CALDERON  133 

When  first  we  entered  this  dark  world, 

We  hailed  it  with  a  moan ; 
And  when  we  leave  its  confines  dark, 
Our  farewell  is  a  groan. 
0,  spare  me,  Jesus,  spare  me.  Savior  dear, 
Nor  meet  thy  servant  as  a  judge  severe! 


PART   FIVE 

GREAT  FRENCH  AUTHORS 


L  MONTAIGNE. 

II.  RABLAIS. 

III.  FENELON. 

IV.  MONTESQUIEU. 

V.  CORNEILLE. 

VI.  RACINE. 

VII.  MOLIERE. 

VIII.  LA  FONTAINE, 

IX.  VOLTAIRE. 

X.  HUGO 


Of  all  European  literature  the  French  is  by  general 
consent  that  which  possesses  the  most  uniformly  fertile, 
brilliant  and  unbroken  history. 

— Saintsbury. 


I, 

MONTAIGNE. 

The  father  of  the  modern  essay  was  Michel  Eyquem  de  Mon- 
taigne, whose  volame  is  the  earliest  of  the  French  classics,  and 
the  publication  of  whose  essays  marked  an  epoch  in  the  literature 
of  the  world. 

Montaigne  was  born  on  the  last  day  of  February,  1533.  He 
learned  Latin  before  he  learned  French,  his  father  having  placed 
him  in  infancy  u^der  a  German  tutor  who  addressed  him  only  in 
Latin.  He  was  educated  in  the  law,  but  soon  abandoned  that  pro- 
fession. He  was  a  "councilor"  in  the  Parliament  of  Bordeaux, 
and  was  twice  chosen  mayor  of  that  city.  He  conducted  negotia- 
tions between  King  Henry  IV.  of  Navarre  and  the  Duke  of  Guise, 
with  both  of  whom  he  was  upon  friendliest  terms.  He  was  highly 
esteemed  by  Cat'terine  de  Medicis,  by  the  Kings  of  France  who 
reigned  in  his  lifetime,  and  generally  by  the  public  men  of  his 
day,  regardless  of  faction,  politics  or  religion — a  statement  which 
probably  cannot  le  made  of  any  other  equally  prominent  person 
of  that  unsettled  and  bloody  era.  In  this  respect  his  career  re- 
minds us  of  that  of  Petrarch,  the  great  Italian.  His  fairness,  his 
patience  and  his  equanimity  won  the  hearts  of  all,  and  his  char- 
acter was  a  better  defense  for  him  than  an  army  of  soldiers, 
j^uring  all  the  ci>il  wars  of  that  stormy  period  the  chateau  of 
Montaigne  was  le^'^t  unguarded  and  unbarred.  He  had,  as  he  said, 
"no  other  guard  cr  sentinel  than  the  stars." 

At  the  age  of  thirty-eight  he  decided  to  eschew  public  life 
altogether  and  g].we  his  time  wholly  to  literature;  a  resolution 
which  he  was  not  able  to  carry  out  in  its  entirety,  but  in  which 
he  at  least  approximately  succeeded.  Whether  in  his  library  with 
his  Plutarch  and  Seneca,  or  patching  up  truces  for  the  Duke'  of 
Guise  and  King  Henry  IV.,  or  serving  the  court  of  France,  or 
arbitrating,  in  the  mayoralty  of  Bordeaux,  the  differences  of  his 

135 


136  MONTAIGNE 

neighbors,  he  led  a  Hfe  of  serene  and  tranquil  contemplation,  dis- 
playing at  all  times  !iis  candid  and  sincere  temper,  and  minghng 
L  sort  of  amiable  skepticism  with  an  honest  faith  in  God  and  a 
genuine  love  of  man. 

Montaigne  hc.s  been  more  generally  read  than  any  other 
prose-writer  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  is  still  one  of  the 
favorite  authors  of  mankind.  It  is  very  doubtful  if  there  is  a 
single  person  of  broad  and  liberal  culture  in  all  the  world  today, 
who  has  not  at  some  period  of  his  Hfe  fallen  under  the  sorcer's 
spell  of  eld  Montaigne.  He  and  Machiavelli  were  ihe  writers 
who  most  profoundly  influenced  the  thought  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury; and,  as  Hallam.  observes,  these  two,  and  Rablais,  are  the 
only  writers  of  that  age,  aside  from  poets  and  historians,  who  are 
much  read  at  the  present  time. 

The  perennial  charm  of  Montaigne  is  as  hard  to  define  as  it 
is  diflicult  to  resist.  Whether  the  appeal  may  be  thought  to  lie  in 
his  sprightly  humor,  in  his  rambling  and  discursive  manner,  in 
his  desultory,  cheerful,  conversational  style,  his  bewitching  afflu- 
ence of  speech,  his  fascinating  simplicity,  his  placid  equability, 
or  in  the  opalescer  t  brightness  of  those  pages  which  he  has  graced 
with  such  an  aer'al  delicacy  and  lightness  of  touch,  he  entertains, 
he  soothes  and  satisfies  the  leisure  hour.  When  the  King  of 
France  told  Montaigne  that  he  liked  his  essays,  the  latter  replied : 
•'Then,  sire,  you  will  like  me ;  I  am  my  essays."  And  he  tells  us 
'■he  same  thing  in  his  preface:  "Thus,  reader,  myself  am  the 
matter  of  my  book;  there's  no  reason  thou  shouldst  employ  thy 
leisure  about  so  frivolous  and  vain  a  subject."  But,  for  all  that, 
as  Emerson  has  said:  "This  book  of  Montaigne  the  world  has 
endorsed  by  translating  it  into  all  tongues,  and  printing  seventy- 
five  editions  of  it  :'n  Europe ;  and  that,  too,  a  circulation  somewhat 
thosen,  namely,  ^imong  courtiers,  soldiers,  princes,  men  of  the 
world,  and  men  of  wit  and  generosity."  Sainte-Beuve  calls  him 
"the  French  Horace" — an  eminently  apt  characterization,  too; 
for  the  reader  oi  Montaigne  cannot  have  escaped  his  Horatian 
attitude  throughout.  He  is,  indeed,  a  true  and  living  exempli- 
fication of  Horace's  "golden  mean."     Balzac  said  of  him  that  he 


MONTAIGNE  137 

carried  human  rnpson  as  far  and  as  high  as  it  could  go,  both  in 
politics  and  in  morals.  But  that,  we  should  say,  is  taking  the 
French  essayist  rather  too  seriously.  It  reminds  one  of  the  state- 
ment of  Charles  Francis  Adams  in  his  Phi  Beta  Kappa  address 
at  Cambridge,  \v.  1883,  wherein  he  said  that  he  preferred  the 
"philosophy"  of  Montaigne  to  the  "platitudes"  of  Cicero.  How- 
ever, it  is  hardly  to  be  supposed  that  Cicero  will  suffer  in  any  com- 
parison with  Montaigne,  notwithstanding  the  opinion  of  the 
American  scholar  just  quoted.  When  we  have  said  of  Montaigne 
that  he  possessed  tact,  good  sense,  a  kindly  spirit,  the  saving 
Srace  of  humor,  and  an  unfailing  literary  charm,  we  have  said 
as  much  as  can  be  said  for  most  great  prose  writers  of  the  six- 
teenth century. 

Montaigne,  like  Horace,  has  been  peculiarly  the  companion  of 
the  hterati  of  the  generations  that  have  succeeded  him.  Epi- 
curian  in  his  tendencies  he  undoubtedly  was ;  but  he  was  not  the 
proponent  of  any  particlar  sect  or  school  of  thought.  To  say  that 
he  argued  for  any  specific  set  or  system  of  ideas  in  politics,  re- 
ligion or  philosophy,  is  to  misapprehend  his  meaning.  But  he 
?peaks  truth ;  whether  by  accident  or  design,  directly  or  by  in- 
nuendo, apparently  does  not  concern  him.  His  air  is  that  of  one 
who  speaks  for  e.atertainment — and  primarily  for  his  own  diver- 
tisement.  He  has  no  cause  to  argue,  no  point  to  prove.  He  is 
not  seeking  proselytes  or  making  followers.  What  does  it  mat- 
ter? And  this  beguiling  attitude  of  nonchalance,  this  sweet  in- 
souciance, is  one  s^ecret  of  his  charm.  He  talks  and  clatters  along 
at  an  amazing  rate,  but  the  spirit  of  controversy  is  not  in  him. 
He  is  not  polemicfd,  nor  em.otional.  He  does  not  care  to  convince, 
seek  to  persuade,  nor  mean  to  offend.  If  he  has  jarred  the  nerves 
of  Pascal  and  Malebranche,  it  was,  we  are  persuaded,  wholly  un- 
intentional— and  he  would  say  so  now,  if  he  could ;  but  he  might 
add,  as  he  does  in  his  essay,  "Of  Repentence":  "I  speak  truth, 
not  so  much  as  I  would,  but  as  much  as  I  dare ;  and  I  dare  a  little 
the  more  as  I  gr.w  older." 

Hallam  has  observed  that  Montaigne's  great  influence  has 
been  felt  not  directly  upon  the  multitude  so  much  as  through 


138 


MONTAIGNE 


the  great  minds  he  has  reached  and  helped  to  mould.  We  know 
that  his  influence  ipon  Shakespeare  was  very  great.  Victor  Hugo 
thinks  that  he  saved  the  English  bard  from  the  concetti  of  the 
Italian  school,  and  thus  made  Hamlet  possible.  However  that 
may  be,  v/e  are  at  liberty  to  surmise  that  Montaigne  was  in  Shake- 
speare's hbrary,  and  we  know  that  in  "The  Tempest,"  in  the 
speech  of  Gonzalo,  wherein  the  ideal  commonwealth  is  described, 
the  wordr-  are  taken  almost  verbatim  from  Montaigne's  Essays, 
Bk.  I.,  Chap.  30. 

"His  book,"  says  Sainte-Beuve,  "is  a  treasure-house  of  moral 
observaticms  and  of  experience ;  at  whatever  page  it  is  opened,  and 
in  whatever  condition  of  mind,  some  wise  thought  expressed  in  a 
striking  and  enduring  fashion  is  certain  to  be  found.  It  will  at 
once  detach  itself  and  engrave  itself  on  the  mind,  a  beautiful 
meaning  in  full  and  forcible  words,  in  one  vigorous  line,  familiar 
or  great.  The  whole  of  his  book,  said  Etienne  Pasquier,  is  a  real 
seminary  of  beautiful  and  remarkable  sentences,  and  they  com.e 
in  so  much  the  better  that  they  run  and  hasten  on  without  thrust- 
ing themselves  into  notice  There  is  something  for  every  age, 
for  every  hour  of  life." 


RABLAIS. 

Francois  Rablais  was  born  about  1490  and  died  about  155S. 
The  exact  dates  a^  e  unknown.  He  was  the  son  of  a  tavern  keeper 
and  apothecary  of  Chinon,  in  Touraine.  He  was  first  a  Francis- 
an  Monk,  then  a  Benedictine,  then  a  secular  priest,  and  then  a 
physician,  by  virtue  of  various  permits  from  the  Vatican.  On 
January  18,  153G,  Pope  Paul  HI  issued  a  bull  granting  him  au- 
thority to  gratuitously  practice  medicine,  excluding  surgery,  be- 
cause of  his  "zeal  for  religion,  knowledge  of  literature,  and  probity 
of  life  and  m.orals."  The  Holy  Father  must  have  strained  a  point 
when  he  signed  tl^at  statement,  or  else — he  did  not  know  Rablais. 
The  reference  to  his  literary  knowledge,  however,  is  amply  justi- 
ied,  for  Rablais  was  one  of  the  most  learned  men  of  his  century^ 
His  was  perhaps  the  keenest  intelligence  of  that  generation  of 
men.  But  as  to  his  zeal  for  religion,  and  his  probity  of  life  and 
morals — well,  perhaps  the  Vatican  may  not  have  enjoyed  special 
sources  ol  information  which  have  been  disclosed  by  the  vigilance 
of  modern  scholarship.  To  the  best  of  our  knowledge,  we  are 
inclined  to  apply  to  him  the  observation  which  Lady  Wortley 
Montague  applied  to  Henry  Fielding:  "His  happy  constitution 
made  him  forget  everything  when  he  was  before  a  venison  pastry, 
or  over  a  flask  of  champagne." 

In  Pantagruel's  history,  Rablais,  with  his  rollicking  humor 
and  redundant  fertility  of  language,  has  given  us  the  most  bril- 
liant piece  of  fict'on  which  French  literature  of  that  age  affords, 
and,  with  all  its  moral  coarseness,  one  of  the  greatest  in  the 
ciassics  of  all  time.  That  such  pungent  wit  and  exuberant  jollity, 
such  joyous  jest,  such  amiable  raillery  and  exquisite  humor, 
should  be  encompassed  with  such  a  nauseating  mass  of  conglome- 
rate verbal  filth,  is  matter  of  most  poignant  regret. 

"In  Gargantua  and  Pantagruel,"  says  Dr.  Benjamin  Willis 

139 


140  RABLAIS 

Wells,  "frank  fooling  is  mingled  with  keen  social  satire,  political 

insight,  and  pedagogic  wisdom In  the  first  book,  Gargan- 

tua,  will  be  found,  together  with  the  farcial  adventure  of  that 
giant,  the  notable  deeds  of  Friar  John,  the  founding  of  the  Abbey 
of  Thelema,  and  the  quintessence  of  Rablaisian  social  and  peda- 
gogical philosophy.  The  second  had  for  its  original  descriptive 
title  Pantagruel,  Iving  of  the  Drunkards,  Portrayed  According  to 
Life,  with  His  Aniazing  Deeds  and  Feats  of  Prowess.'  .  .  .  Rab- 
lais's  influence  on  the  development  of  fiction  was  small,  but  Pan- 
tagruel, Panurge  jr.nd  Friar  John  are  imperishable  creations."  We 
learn  from  one  of  Rablais's  biographies  that  in  France  the  time 
cf  paying  a  reckoning  in  a  drink-shop  is  still  called,  among  the 
Pantagruellists,  or  good  fellows,  a  "quart  d'heure  de  Rabelais" — 
or  Rablais's  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Rablais  is  the  French  Aristophanes;  but  he  also  resembles 
Lucian.  In  his  satire  he  has  been  likened  to  both  Swift  and  Cer- 
vantes ;  but  he  is  a  greater  scholar  than  either,  although  lacking 
the  terrible  veheinence  of  Swift  and  the  majestic  equability  of 
Cervantes.  It  may  interest  some  of  our  money-mad  financiers 
to  know  tliat  Panurge  had  sixty-three  ways  of  making  money,  "of 
which  the  honestest  was  by  sly  theft." 

"Panurge  is  so  admirably  conceived,"  says  Hallam,  "that  we 
may  fairly  reckon  him  original ;  but  the  germ  of  the  character  is 
in  the  gracioso.  or  clown,  of  the  extemporaneous  stage;  the 
roguish,  selfish,  cowardly,  cunning  attendant,  who  became 
Panurge  in  the  plastic  hands  of  Rablais,  and  Sancho  in  those  of 
Cervantes,  The  French  critics  have  not,  in  general  done  justice 
to  Rablais,  whose  manner  was  not  that  of  the  age  of  Louis  XIV. 
The  Tale  of  a  Tab'  appears  to  me  by  far  the  closest  imitation  of 
U,  and  to  be  conceived  altogether  in  a  kindred  spirit ;  but,  in  gen- 
eral, those  who  have  had  reading  enough  to  rival  the  copiousness 
of  Rablais  have  wanted  his  invention  and  humor,  or  the  riotous- 
ness  of  his  animal  spirits." 

Pope  in  his  "Dunciad"  (Book  I.)  also  notes  the  Rablaisian 
similarity  of  Swift,  in  the  following  lines: 


RABLAIS  141 

"0  thou!  whatever  title  please  thine  ear, 
Dean,  Drapier,  Bickerstaff  or  GulHver! 
Whet^ier  thou  choose  Cervantes'  serious  air, 
Or  lano-h  and  shake  in  Rablais'  easy  chair." 

However,  a  distinguished  French  author,  M.  Taine,  in  his  History 
of  English  Literature,  says  that  Swift  "must  not  be  compared 
with  Rablais ;  that  good  giant,  that  drunken  doctor,  rolls  himself 
joyously  about  on  his  dunghill,  thinking  no  evil;  the  dunghill  is 
warm.,  convenient,  a  fine  place  to  philosophize  and  sleep  off  one's 
wine.  When  the  casks  are  emptied  down  his  throat,  and  the 
viands  are  gorged,  we  sympathize  with  so  much  bodily  com- 
fort; *  *  *  in  the  laughter  of  this  Homeric  mouth  we  see,  as 
through  a  mist,  the  relics  of  bacchanal  religions,  the  fecundity, 
the  monstrous  joy  of  nature;  these  are  the  splendors  of  its  first 
births." 

But  Rablais  v  as  something  more  than  a  humorist,  gourmand 
and  scorner  of  conventionalities.  "In  the  young  Gargantua's 
course  of  education,"  writes  the  French  master-critic,  Sainte- 
Beuve,  "we  have  the  first  plan  of  what  Montaigne,  Charron,  in 
places  and  parts  the  Port  Royal  school,  the  Christian 
school  *  *  *  set  forth  with  greater  seriousness  but  not  with  more 
good  sense.  We  have  in  advance  at  one  glance,  and  with  brilliant 
genius,  what  Rousseau  will  expound  later  in  'Emile'." 

In  early  life  Voltaire  put  Rablais  down  as  merely  "a  drunken 
philosopher,  who  only  wrote  when  he  was  drunk."  But  twenty- 
five  years  later  he  wrote  to  Madame  du  Deff and :  "After  Clarissa 
Harlowe,  I  read  over  again  some  chapters  of  Rablais.  *  *  *  I  know 
them,  indeed,  alm.ost  by  heart,  but  I  read  them  with  the  greatest 
pleasure,  because  they  are  the  most  vivid  descriptions  in  the 
world.  It  is  not  that  I  regard  Rablais  as  equal  to  Horace.  Rab- 
lais, when  he  is  in  good  humor,  is  the  best  of  good  buffoons ;  two 
of  the  craft  are  not  wanted  in  a  nation,  but  there  must  be  one. 
I  repent  that  I  formerly  spoke  ill  of  him." 

"Yes,"  as  Sainte-Beuve  adds,  "Rablais  is  a  buffoon,  but  a 
unique  buffoon,  a  Homeric  buffoon !    Voltaire's  latest  opinion  will 


142 


RABLAIS 


remain  that  of  al'  men  of  sense  and  taste,  of  those  who  do  not 
possess  a  decided  inclination  and  predilection  for  Rablais.  But 
for  the  rest,  for  the  true  amateur,  for  the  real  pantagruelist  de- 
votees, Rablais  is  something:  very  different.  At  the  bottom  of 
Master  Francois's  cask,  even  in  the  dregs,  there  is  a  flavor  not 
to  be  explained." 

Like  Cervantes,  Rablais  teems  with  homely,  common-sense 
aphorisms  which  have  become  household  words  throughout  the 
world,  such  as,  for  example,  his  well-known  couplet: 

"The  Devil  was  sick, — the  Devil  a  monk  would  be; 
The  Devil  got  well, — the  Devil  a  monk  was  he." 

According  to  Motteux,  the  last  v/ords  of  Rablais  were  these : 
"I  am  going  to  seek  a  great  perhaps." 


III. 

FENELON. 

Of  that  mighty  quintette  of  brilKant  ecclesiastics  surround- 
ing the  throne  of  Louis  XIV. — Bossuet,  Bourdaloue,  Flechier, 
Massillon  and  Fenelon — the  first  named  is  still  the  most  eloquent 
pulpit  orator  the  v^orld  has  ever  known ;  but  the  name  of  Fenelon 
shines  in  French  literature  with  a  luster  all  its  own,  and  rays  forth 
upon  the  Age  of  the  Grand  Monarch  its  most  splendid  beams. 

Fenelon  was  born  in  1651,  and  died  in  1715  after  a  life  of 
active  scholarship,  pious  humility  and  good  works.  His  life  was 
one  of  gentleness  and  moderation.  In  1688  Louis  XIV.  appointed 
him  tutor  to  his  grandson,  the  Duke  of  Burgundy.  He  had  been 
teaching  at  Paris  while  following  the  vocation  of  the  priesthood, 
had  v/ritten  a  book  on  education,  and  the  new  post  was  admirably 
adapted  to  his  talents  and  suited  to  his  inclinations.  Bossuet  said 
that  the  bestowal  of  this  position  upon  Fenelon  was  "a  proper 
reward  for  merit  that  took  pains  to  conceal  itself."  Many  of 
Fenelon's  literary  works — perhaps  the  majority  of  them — were 
composed  as  text-books  for  the  young  prince.  At  any  rate  he 
discharged  his  duties  with  such  fidelity  and  zeal  that  in  1694  he 
was  made  Abbot  of  Saint  Valery,  and  the  next  year  he  was  made 
Archbishop  of  Cr.?Tibray.  So  wide  was  the  fame  of  the  charity 
and  piety  of  the  great  Archbishop  that  when  the  country  was 
ravaged  by  the  English  under  Marlborough,  the  English  general 
gave  orders  that  none  of  the  estates  of  the  Archbishop  were  to  be 
invaded;  and  a  guard  was  given  him  for  his  protection.  Never- 
the  less,  his  residence  was  burned — by  accident  or  mistake,  it  is 
supposed — and  rr.any  of  Fenelon's  unpublished  manuscripts  were 
destroyed,  together  with  his  priceless  library.  His  only  comment 
upon  his  calamity  was:  "I  would  much  rather  that  this  were 
destroyed  than  the  cottage  of  some  poor  peasant !"    But  we  know 

143 


144  FENELON 

how  great  the  lo;^s  to  him  when  we  recall  his  words,  written  on 
another  occasion :  "If  the  crowns  of  all  the  kingdoms  of  Europe 
were  laid  at  my  feet  in  exchange  for  my  books  and  my  love  of 
reading,  I  would  spurn  them  all." 

Further  light  is  thrown  upon  the  character  of  the  saintly 
bishop  by  his  part  in  the  famous  controversy  over  "Quietism" — 
a  controversy  which  would  now  be  forgotten  by  the  literary  world 
but  for  the  fact  ihat  the  two  old  friends,  then  the  greatest  lumi- 
naries of  the  Gallican  Church — Bossuet  and  Fenelon — found  them- 
selves on  opposite  sides.  In  his  "Maxims  of  the  Saints,"  Fenelon 
appears  to  have  fallen  into  some  of  the  heresies  of  Madame  Guyon, 
a  religious  woman  of  whose  piety  and  good  faith  Fenelon  had  no 
doubt,  although  her  "Quietism"  smacks  somewhat  of  the  Hindu 
doctrine  of  "Nirfana."  Bossuet,  it  appears,  prosecuted  the  gentle 
Fenelon  v/ith  great  bitterness.  Finally  twenty-three  propositions 
from  the  "Maxiir  s"  were  condemned  by  the  Pope,  who  said,  how- 
ever, that  Fenelon  had  "erred  through  excess  of  Divine  love,  but 
you  have  erred  tlirough  lack  of  love  for  your  neighbor." 

Fenelon  appears  to  have  been  the  first  to  write  a  treatise  on 
female  education,  which  he  did,  in  1681,  at  the  request  of  the 
Duchess  of  Beauv'illiers — "De  V  education  des  filles" — of  which 
there  are  a  number  of  good  English  translations.  In  this  book, 
which  displays  m.ost  characteristically  the  natural  sweetness  and 
charm  of  his  humane  disposition,  Fenelon  anticipates  by  a  hun- 
dred years  the  foundations  of  modern  pedagogy  which  are  laid  in 
Rousseau's  "Emile,"  and  is  wholly  free  from  any  of  the  objec- 
tionable features  of  Rousseau.  Fenelon's  theory  of  education  is 
indulgent,  and  his  method  a  labor  of  love.  As  Hallam  observes, 
"a  desire  to  render  children  happy  for  the  time,  as  well  as  after- 
ward, runs  through  his  book,  and  he  may,  perhaps,  be  considered 
the  foun  ler  of  tlut  school  which  has  endeavored  to  dissipate  the 
terrors  and  dry  the  tears  of  childhood."  Let  us  quote  but  a  sen- 
tence: "T  have  seen,"  he  says,  "many  children  who  have  learned 
to  read  in  play ;  we  have  only  to  read  entertaining  stories  to  them 
out  of  a  book,  and  insensibly  teach  them  the  letters;  they  will 
soon  desire  to  go  for  themselves  to  the  source  of  their  amuse- 


FENELON  ,        145 

ment."  Frobel  and  Pestalozzi  have  added  very  little  to  the  com- 
prehensive view  of  child-life  and  growth  expressed  in  this  little 
treatise ;  v/hile  Locke's  treatise,  published  at  about  the  same  time, 
is  hardly  to  be  compared  with  it. 

One  of  the  books  written  by  Fenelon  for  his  noble  pupil  was 
his  "Dialogues  oi  the  Dead,"  patterned  after  Fontenelle,  who,  of 
course,  to  k  the  id^a  from  Lucian,  the  source  whence  the  Spaniard. 
Quevedo,  obtained  the  idea  of  his  "Visions."  But  Lallarpe  very 
much  prefers  the  work  of  Fenelon  to  that  of  Fontenelle.  "The 
noble  zeal  of  Fenelon  not  to  spare  the  vices  of  kings,  in  writing 
for  the  heir  of  one  so  imperious  and  so  open  to  the  censure  of 
reflecting  minds,  shines  throughout  these  dialogues." 

It  was  the  same  "noble  zeal"  displayed  in  the  "Telemachus" 
that  caused  Fenelon's  permanent  banishment  from  the  court  of 
Louis  XIV.  This  work,  stolen  by  a  servant  and  published  without 
the  author's  consent,  v/as  declared  to  contain  very  plain  references 
to  the  vices  of  the  court  of  the  Grand  Monarch.  But,  neverthe- 
less, it  is  Fenelon's  greatest  creation.  Critics  are  not  agreed  as 
to  whether  the  "Telemachus"  is  an  epic  or  a  romance.  Blair 
declares  it  to  be  an  opic.  Hallam  calls  it  a  romance.  But  the 
reader  will  bear  m  mind,  with  Lord  Kames,  in  his  "Elements  of 
Criticism,"  that  the  distinction  is  often  shadowy  indeed.  Vol- 
taire in  his  essay  on  "Epic  Poetry"  excludes  the  "Telemachus" 
from  that  class,  It  is  a  work  of  great  moral  and  esthetic  excel- 
lence, breathing  the  genuine  classical  spirit,  noble  in  diction,  rich 
in  poetic  imagery,  charming  in  its  grace  and  dignity,  written  in 
a  remarkably  harmonious  and  poetical  prose,  permeated  by  a 
beautiful  enthusiasm,  and  covered  as  with  a  mantle  of  divine 
grace  by  the  author's  inimitible  sweetness  of  style  and  spirit.  No 
book  in  the  Fren';h  language  has  been  more  widely  read,  and  none 
more  fully  deserves  the  popularity  it  still  maintains.  For,  truly 
may  it  be  said  of  Fenelon,  as  he  said  of  another:  "II  embellit  tout 
ce  qu'il  touche" — He  adorns  all  that  he  touches. 


IV. 
MONTESQUIEU. 

Charles  de  Secondat,  Baron  de  Montesquieu,  President  of  the 
Parliament  of  Bordeaux,  was  born  in  1689,  and  died  in  1755.  He 
was  one  of  the  most  accomplished  scholars  of  his  day,  and  ranks 
among  the  greatest  of  political  philosophers. 

In  1721  he  published  his  Persian  Letters,  in  which,  affecting 
the  guise  of  a  P  i^sian,  he  ridiculed  the  civilization  of  his  times. 
In  1734,  after  making  a  tour  of  Europe,  he  published  his  Con- 
siderations on  the  Causes  of  the  Grandeur  and  Decadence  of  the 
Romans.  Fourteen  years  later  appeared  his  master  work,  the 
Spirit  of  Laws,  upon  which  he  had  been  engaged  for  twenty  years, 
and  which  will  be  forever  numbered  among  the  classics. 

His  favorite  authors  were  Tacitus  and  Plutarch,  and  Tacitus 
is  perhaps  the  only  great  writer  who  has  equalled  him  in  the  con- 
ciseness of  his  style.  Voltaire  said  of  him  that  "when  the  human 
race  had  lost  their  charters,  Montesquieu  rediscovered  and  re- 
stored them."  The  King  of  Sardinia  declared  that  Montesquieu 
had  taught  him  the  art  of  government.  But  it  was  in  America 
that  the  brilliant  French  publicist  was  to  score  his  most  splendid 
triumph.  American  liberty  owes  more  to  the  mind  of  Montesquieu 
than  it  does  to  the  arm  of  Lafayette. 

It  is  said  that  Washington,  as  soon  as  he  determined  to  attend 
the  federal  congress  at  Philadelphia,  "made  himself  familiar  with 
the  writings  of  Montesquieu."  The  address  penned  by  John 
Dickinson  and  issued  by  authority  of  congress  to  the  people  of 
Quebec,  in  the  hope  of  gaining  their  aid  in  the  projected  revolu- 
tion, was  made  up  principally  of  apt  quotations  from  the  "Spirit 
of  Laws."  A  well-known  writer  has  declared  that  the  American 
colonial  leaders  "knew  Montesquieu  as  familiarly  as  they  knew 
the  traditions  of  Englishmen."     Madison,   Jefferson,   Hamilton, 

146 


MONTESQUIEU  147 

"Washington  and  Gouverneur  Morris  were  among  those  who  knew 
Montesquieu  better  than  they  knew  Blackstone. 

When  the  adoption  of  the  Federal  Constitution  was  under 
consideration,  the  author  most  cited  and  quoted  in  those  discus- 
sions was  Montesquieu.  Singularly  enough  he  was,  hke  the  Bible, 
sometimes  cited  as  authority  by  both  sides,  and  the  discussion 
was  in  some  instances  narrowed  simply  to  a  correct  interpreta- 
tion of  the  French  author.  When  his  real  opinions  were  deter- 
mined, the  matter  was  beyond  controversy.  His  recommenda- 
tions were  accepted  with  implicit  faith.  No  one  had  the  temerity 
to  doubt  his  wisdom.  None  questioned  the  truth  of  his  conclu- 
sions or  the  justice  of  his  observations.  To  these  giant  states- 
men his  voice  was  oracular  and  his  word  was  law. 

The  longest  quotation  in  the  Federalist  is  in  one  of  Hamilton's 
papers,  and  it  is  from.  Montesquieu.  When  Madison  was  seeking 
to  demonstrate  the  wisdom  of  separating  the  executive,  legislative 
and  judicial  powers,  he  said  ("The  Federalist,"  No.  xlvii) : 
'The  oracle  who  is  always  consulted  and  cited  on  this  subject,  is 
the  celebrated  Montesquieu.  If  he  be  not  the  author  of  this  in- 
valuable precept  m  ihe  science  of  poHtics,  he  has  the  merit  at 
least  of  displaying  and  recommending  it  most  effectually  to  the 
attention  of  manKind."  In  this  view  Madison  is  supported  by 
Dr.  Franc-is  Lieber,  the  political  guide  of  Justice  Story  and  Chan- 
cellor Kent,  and  the  personal  friend  and  adviser  of  Lincoln. 
Lieber  declared,  in  a  note  to  page  150  of  his  "Civil  Liberty  and 
Self -Government."  that  "Montesquieu  is  the  first  political  philoso- 
pher who  distinctively  conceived  the  necessity  of  a  division  of 
power."  Montesquieu  was  likewise  one  of  the  chief  authorities, 
if  not  the  princi:jal  one,  cited  in  support  of  the  idea  of  a  federal 
union.  Jeremy  Eentham  notes  also  that  he  was  one  of  the  first 
to  see  the  harmfulness  of' too  many  laws  and  an  intricate  code; 
a  lesson  which  Montesquieu  first  learned,  no  doubt,  from  his 
Tacitus  (Annals,  Bk.  III.,  p.  160) :  "Corruption  abounding  in  the 
commonwealth,  +he  commonwealth  abounded  in  laws." 

Montesquieu  fully  merited  the  tribute  of  Lord  Chesterfield, 
who  said  of  him:     "His  virtues  did  honor  to  human  nature;  his 


148 


MONTESQUIEU 


writings,  justice.  A  friend  to  mankind,  he  asserted  their  un- 
doubted and  unalienable  rights  and  liberties.  His  works  will 
illustrate  his  name,  and  survive  him  as  long  as  right  reason,  moral 
obligation  and  the  true  spirit  of  laws  shall  be  understood,  re- 
spected and  maintained."  Indeed,  for  any  lover  of  liberty  today, 
no  book  will  better  repay  a  reading  than  Montesquieu's  Spirit  of 
Laws.  His  philosophy  is  a  perpetual  fountain  of  freedom,  while 
his  epigrammatic  sty^e,  coruscating  and  luminous,  will  forever  in- 
terest, instruct  and  delight  the  cultured  mind.  Many  are  the  ills 
we  might  be  spared  if  modern  statesmen  would  but  turn  again  to 
him!  Thus,  he  warns:  "The  deterioration  of  a  government  be- 
gins almost  always  by  the  decay  of  its  principles."  And  again: 
"Republics  end  through  luxury;  monarchies  through  poverty." 
Volumes  could  tell  us  no  more  of  human  history  than  he  has  here 
said  in  a  Hngle  line. 


V. 
CORNEILLE. 

Pierre  CornfiHe  was  the  son  of  a  lawyer  of  Rouen.  He  was 
born  June  6,  1600  was  educated  by  the  Jesuits,  and  was  trained 
for  the  law.  He  practiced  that  profession  for  a  few  years,  but 
soon  abandoned  it  for  the  calling  to  which  nature  had  apparently 
intended  he  should  devote  the  best  years  of  his  Hfe. 

To  Corneille  is  accredited  the  happy  discovery  of  the  sou- 
brette;  and,  as  Edward  Dowden  observes,  "It  was  something  to 
replace  the  old  nurse  of  classic  tragedy  with  the  soubrette."  The 
soubrette  is  therefore  as  distinctly  French  in  its  creation  as  the 
gracioso  is  pure'v  Spanish.  Corneille's  first  play,  "Melite,"  ap- 
peared in  1629.  His  next  was  "Clitandre,"  and  was  not  so  good 
as  the  first.  "La  Veuve"  i^  better,  and  according  to  Fontenelle 
and  La  Harpe  is  the  first  model  of  the  French  higher  comedy. 
"The  Medea,"  his  next  piece,  borrowed  from  Seneca,  imparted  a 
new  tone  of  dignity  to  French  tragedy.  These  works  placed  him 
in  the  front  rank  of  French  theatrical  writers;  but  his  greater 
triumphs  were  to  follow. 

Seven  years  after  his  first  production  "The  Cid"  appeared,  in 
1636,  and  set  a^l  France  ablaze.  The  plot  was  borrowed  from 
Guillen  de  Castro.  It  marked  an  epoch  in  French  drama.  The 
piece  was  denounced  by  Richeheu  and  the  French  Academy,  it  has 
been  condemned  by  such  critics  as  Scudery  and  Voltaire,  and  it 
was  warmly  defended  by  La  Harpe  and  others.  But  it  drew  tre- 
mendously, and  still  pleases  French  audiences.  The  next  tragedy 
is  "Les  Horaces,"  which  is  open  to  the  same  objections  as  "The 
Cid,"  as  lacking  in  the  dramatic  unities,  but  in  literary  style  it  is 
reckoned  superior  to  "The  Cid."  He  next  produced  the  tragedy 
of  "Cinna."  In  the  opinion  of  many  this  is  Corneille's  greatest 
work.  But  it,  too,  is  not  without  its  dramatic  defects. 
"Polyeucle,"  a  story  of  Christian  martyrdom,  grips  the  heart,  and 

149 


150 


CORNEILLE 


its  character  of  Pauh'ne  is  one  of  the  noblest  of  the  French  thea- 
tre. But  Boileau  and  others  objected  to  it  because  of  its  intro- 
duction of  the  njysteries  of  the  Christian  faith  upon  the  stage. 
"Rodogune"  was  a  favorite  with  Corneille  himself,  but  does  not 
hold  the  averag '  I'eader.  However,  the  first  act  of  this  play  has 
been  highly  praised  by  La  Harpe.  "Pompey"  was  more  defective 
than  any.  of  it?  predecessors.  "Heraclius"  is  inferior  to  Cor- 
neille's  best  literary  style,  and  "Nicomede"  is  below  "Heraclius." 
No  dramatist,  indeed,  is  more  uneven  in  his  work  than  is  Cor- 
neille. His  *Tertharite"  was  such  a  failure  that  he  retired  from 
the  drama  for  some  years,  during  which  period  he  rendered  into 
verse  the  "Imitation  of  Christ"  of  Thomas  a  Kempis.  Moliere, 
with  whom  he  collaborated  in  the  production  of  one  play,  drew 
him  from  his  ret'rem.ent,  but  the  dramatic  work  of  his  later  years 
was  uniformly  unsuccessful. 

The  old  age  of  Corneille  was  spent  in  poverty — to  use  his  own 
words — "satiated  with  glory  and  hungiy  for  money."  Some 
grateful  verses  addressed  to  Louis  XIV.  were  among  his  last 
efforts.  The  king  had  sent  him  a  gift  of  money,  at  the  request 
of  Boileau.  But  two  days  later,  on  October  1,  1684,  the  venerable 
father  of  French  tragedy  passed  away.  His  great  rival,  Racine, 
delivered  his  eulogy  before  the  French  Academy,  and  Moliere  re- 
ferred to  him  as  his  master.  And  so  he  died,  poor  in  what  the 
world  calls  wealtn,  but  rich  in  the  glory  of  an  honored  nam.e 
merited  so  well  by  a  pure  and  noble  life. 

Such  profound  critics  as  Fontenelle  and  St.  Evremont  praise 
even  his  minor  tragedies.  Lucan  was  his  favorite  author  and 
his  Roman  prototype.  He  borrowed  extensively  from  the  Span- 
ish dramatists,  os  well  as  from  the  Roman  classics.  But  his 
unfailing  and  unfading  beauty  is  in  his  elevated  style.  He  is 
epic  rather  than  tragic,  and  more  splendid  than  touching.  Cor- 
neille is  distinguished  for  noble,  masculine  thought,  for  the 
warmth  of  his  nervous  eloquence,  for  his  vivid  narration,  bold 
declamation,  im^rpssive  energy,  sonorous  rythm,  for  the  peculiar 
j'ichness  of  his  genius',  the  fecundity  of  his  imagination  and  the 
grandeur  of  his  lofty  sentiments.     The  French  critic  Faguet  says 


'  CORNEILLE  151 

that  his  language  is  "the  most  beautiful  that  ever  fell  from  a 
French  pen ;  the  most  masculine,  energetic,  at  once  sober  and  full, 
that  was  ever  spoken  in  France."  In  the  language  of  Professor 
Blair  of  Edinburgh,  he  "united  the  copiousness  of  Dryden  with 
the  fire  of  Lucan,  and  he  resembles  them  also  in  their  faults,  in 
their  extravagarce  and  impetuosity."  Yet  his  declamations,  ob- 
serves Di.  Benjamin  Wells,  "the  tirades  of  Camilla,  Augustus, 
Cornelia,  and  many  another,  are  supreme  in  their  kind,  and  will 
thrill  audiences  everywhere  as  long  as  the  antinomies  of  love  and 
patriotism,  honor  and  duty,  perplex  men's  souls." 

Corneille  is  one  of  the  most  quotable  of  the  French  authors, 
and  the  dignity  of  his  sententious  utterance  is  apparent  from 
these  excerpts : 

"We  triumph  without  glory  when  we  conquer  without 
danger." — Le  Cid. 

"He  who  allows  himself  to  be  insulted,  deserves  to  be  so ;  and 
insolence,  if  unpunished,  increases." — Heraclius. 

But  the  best  known  phrase  of  all,  and  one  which  has  rolled 
like  a  thunderbolt  around  the  world,  is  this,  from  his  Heraclius: 
"Tyrant,  step  from  thy  throne,  and  give  place  to  thy  master" — 
Tyrans,  descends  du  trone,  et  fais  place  a  ton  maitre! — a  senti- 
ment which  one  would  think  more  likely  to  find  expression  in  the 
Age  of  Revolutions  than  in  the  Age  of  Louis  XIV. 


VI. 


RACINE. 

While  lackinjf  the  copiousness  and  the  heroic  grandeur  of 
Corneille's  imagination,  Jean  Racine  is  undoubtedly  the  greatest 
of  the  French  tragic  poets,  greatly  excelling  his  gifted  predeces- 
sor in  tenderness,  and  in  the  uncommon  beauty  of  his  versifica- 
tion. Racine  is  noted  for  sympathetic  power,  for  his  delicate 
perceptio'.i  of  ide.al  beauty,  his  exquisite  Virgilian  grace  and  ma- 
jesty, his  depth  of  thought,  and  his  consummate  beauty  of  dic- 
tion.    He  is  the  French  Euripides. 

Jean  Racine  was  educated  by  the  Port-Royalist  teachers  at 
I'Ecole  des  Granges,  and  at  the  College  d'Harcourt,  where  he  read 
and  annotated  all  the  Greek  and  Roman  classics,  and  committed 
to  memory  the  grand  choruses  of  Sophocles  and  Euripides.  At 
twenty-three  he  was  a  finished  and  an  accomplished  scholar.  He 
was  presented  to  the  King,  and  soon  formed  close  friendships  with 
Boileau,  Moliere  and  P'uretiere. 

His  first  tragedy.  Le  Thebaide,  was  presented  by  Moliere's 
players  in  1664.  when  the  author  was  twenty-five  years  of  age. 
He  was  then  pensioned  by  the  King.  In  the  next  year  his  Alex- 
andre came  out.  and  attracted  wide  attention.  He  showed  this 
play  to  Corneille,  who  praised  its  versification,  but  advised  him 
to  avoid  the  drama  as  a  field  unsuited  to  his  talents. 

But  the  glory  of  Racine  dates  from  1667,  when  he  presented 
bis  Andromaque,  which  he  derived  from  Euripides.  He  was  at 
once  compared  and  contrasted  with  Corneille,  and  the  discussion 
of  their  relative  merits  has  continued  ever  since.  It  is  said  that 
the  splendid  acting  of  Mademoiselle  de  Champmele  in  the  part 
of  Hermione  made  the  play  a  success.  Racine  prostrated  himself 
at  her  feet,  in  a  transport  of  gratitude ;  a  feeling  which,  it  is  said, 
was  soon  turned  to  love,  although  they  were  never  married.     He 


152 


RACINE  153 

afterwards  wedded  a  woman  whose  material  possessions  exceeded 
her  mental  culture. 

In  the  year  1669  appeared  his  Britannicus.  Of  this  play 
Hallam  says :  'Tew  tragedies  on  the  French,  or,  indeed,  on  any 
stage,  save  those  of  Shakespeare,  display  so  great  a  variety  of 
contrasted  character.  *  *  *  If  he  has  not  reached,  as  he  never  did, 
the  peculiar  impetuosity  of  Corneille,  nor  given  to  his  Romans 
the  grandeur  of  his  predecessor's  conception,  he  is  full  of  lines 
wherein,  as  every  word  is  effective,  there  can  hardly  be  any  de- 
ficiency of  vigor.  It  is  the  vigor,  indeed,  of  Virgil,  not  of  Lucan." 
Berenice,  his  next  tragedy,  has  been  hkened  to  Shakespeare's 
Timon  of  Athens.  Corneille  attempted,  with  less  success,  the 
same  subject  at  about  the  same  time.  His  next  tragedy,  Bajazet, 
falls  below  the  others  in  beauty  of  style.  Next  came  Mithridate, 
one  of  tho  stron.yest  of  his  plays.  This  was  followed,  in  1674,  by 
Iphigenie,  which,  like  the  Andromaque,  is  derived  from  Euripides. 
In  Phedre,  produced  in  1677,  he  again  attempted  to  surpass  Euri- 
pides. In  this  pJay  he  borrows  more  from  the  Greek  than  in  any 
other. 

At  this  time,  owing,  perhaps,  to  his  Puritanical  relationships, 
and  for  other  reasons,  Racine  appears  to  have  abandoned  the 
stage.  He  was  recalled  from  his  retirement  by  Madame  de  Main- 
tenon,  who  induced  him,  in  1689,  to  write  Esther,  a  Biblical  drama, 
to  be  performed  by  the  girl  students  of  St.  Cyr.  Although  pos- 
sessing no  superior  dramatic  excellence,  the  piece  is  touching  and 
beautiful.  Louis  XIV.  applauded  its  performance,  while  the  great 
Conde  was  affected  to  tears. 

Next,  in  160J,  came  another  sacred  drama,  the  Athalie,  far 
greater  than  Iphigenie  or  Britannicus,  and  unquestionably  stand- 
ing at  the  head  of  all  his  tragedies,  although  its  author  preferred 
the  Phedre.  Athalie  was  praised  by  Boileau,  and  by  others  among 
Racine's  great  contemiporaries,  but  was  not  generally  appreciated 
for  some  years.  Voltaire  has  repeatedly  declared  Athalie  to  be 
the  "Chef  d'OEuvre"  of  the  French  stage. 

Racine's  tragedies  are  all  written  in  Alexandrine  verse.  In 
literary  style,  Hallam  places  Racine  next  to  Virgil  among  the 


154 


RACINE 


poets.  A  great  P>ench  critic,  La  Harpe,  in  his  "Eloge  de  Racine," 
^hus  eloquently  summarizes  the  merits  of  this  mighty  genius: 
"His  expression  v^  always  so  happy  and  so  natural,  that  it  seems 
as  if  no  other  could  be  found ;  and  every  word  is  placed  in  such  a 
manner  that  we  cannot  fancy  any  other  place  to  have  suited  it  as 
well.  The  structure  of  his  style  is  such  that  nothing  could  be 
displaced,  nothing  added,  nothing  retrenched;  it  is  one  unalter- 
able whole.  Even  his  incorrectnesses  are  often  but  sacrifices  re- 
quired by  good  taste,  nor  would  anything  be  more  difficult  than 
to  write  over  again  a  line  of  Racine.  No  one  has  enriched  the 
language  with  a  greater  number  of  turns  of  phrase;  no  one  is 
bold  with  more  felicity  and  discretion,  or  figurative  with  more 
grace  and  propriety;  no  one  has  handled  with  more  command  an 
idiom  often  rebellious,  or  with  more  skill  an  instrument  always 
difficult ;  no  one  has  better  understood  that  delicacy  of  style  which 
must  no^"  be  mistaken  for  feebleness,  and  is,  in  fact,  but  that  air 
of  ease  which  corneals  from  the  reader  the  labor  of  the  work  and 
the  artifices  of  the  composition;  or  better  managed  the  variety 
of  cadences,  the  resources  of  rythm,  the  association  and  deduction 
of  ideas.  In  short,  if  we  consider  that  his  perfection  in  these 
respects  may  be  opposed  to  that  of  Virgil,  and  that  he  spoke  a 
language  less  fleyible,  less  Doetical  and  less  harmonious,  we  shall 
readily  believe  that  Racine  is,  of  all  mankind,  the  one  to  whom 
nature  has  given  the  greatest  talent  for  versification." 

In  his  old  age,  Racine  lost  the  favor  of  the  court,  a  fact  at- 
tributed by  some  to  his  mem.oir  on  the  miseriea^of  the  people.  He 
died  in  1699,  at  the  age  of  sixty. 


VII. 
MOLIERE. 

Jean  Baptiste  Poquelin  (who  assumed  the  name  of  Moliere) 
was  born  in  Paris,  January  15,  1622,  the  son  of  a  tradesman,  and 
died  in  the  citv  of  his  birth,  at  the  age  of  fifty-one.  He  was 
educated  by  the  Jesuits  at  the  College  de  Clermont.  In  1643 
he  abandoned  the  minor  office  v/hich  he  then  held,  and  chose  the 
stage  as  a  career.  As  a  result  of  two  unfortunate  theatrical 
ventures,  he  v/as  imprisoned  for  debt. 

In  1646  he  organized  a  company  of  players,  and  for  the  next 
ten  or  twelve  y^^ars  he  traveled  over  France  as  an  actor  and 
stage  manager,  learning  to  adapt  and  arrange  plays,  and,  above 
all,  learning  human  nature.  Returning  to  Paris  in  1658,  he 
played  before  tl  e  King,  and  gained  a  court  popularity  which  he 
never  lost. 

In  1659,  at  the  age  of  thirty-seven,  he  presented  his  first 
satire  on  cultured  society,  and  inaugurated  a  new  era  in  French 
comedy.  In  L'Avare  he  depicted  the  vice  of  avarice,  and  created 
the  character  of  Harpagon.  His  L'Ecole  des  Femmes  is  a  m.ost 
diverting  comedy.  He  revenged  himself  upon  the  petty  critics 
of  this  play  by  publishing  that  keen  satire.  La  Critique  d  I'Ecole 
des  Femmes,  in  which  he  pilloried  the  pedantic  coterie  of  the 
Hotel  Rambouihi  t.  It  has  been  called  ''the  first  great  serious 
comedy  of  the  French  theatre." 

Mohere's  Misanthrope  is  another  famous  comedy,  in  the 
opinion  of  critics  second  only  to  his  Tartuff  e.  Les  Femmes  Saven- 
tes  is  a  highly  amusing  comedy,  lambasting  the  poetasters  and 
literary  pretend. -^rs  among  the  literary  ladies  and  female  fops  of 
^aris — a  numerous  tribe,  now  widely  dispersed,  and  by  no  means 
extinct.  Les  Precieuses  Ridicules  is  another  play  of  the  same 
character. 

But  TartufTe  is  his  masterpiece,  and  the  greatest  effort  of 
his  genius.  It  stands  alone  among  the  world's  great  comedies, 
with  none  worthy  to  be  named  beside  it.     Tartuffe  is  the  comedy 

155 


156 


MOLIERE 


of  religious  hypocrisv,  in  which  he  unmasks  and  excoriates  those 
whose  love  of  God  is  manifested  only  in  hatred  for  their  fellow- 
men  ;  whose  hand'5  are  clasped  in  prayer  only  when  they  are  not 
clasping  a  neighbor's  purse;  and  who  piously  roll  their  jaundiced 
eyes  to  Heaven,  while  giving  their  festering  hearts  to  Hell.  "No 
one  of  Moliere's  con:edies/'  says  Brander  Matthews,  "is  more 
characteristic  than  Tartuffe.  more  liberal  in  its  treatment  of  our 
common  humanity,  braver  in  its  assault  upon  hypocrisy,  or  more 
masterly  in  technique."  In  this  play,  Moliere  has  ascended  to 
the  full  height  of  his  towering  genius  to  crush  with  the  pervasive 
power  of  his  resistless  humor  and  blighting  irony  that  lowest 
type  of  social  excrescence,  the  sour-faced,  psalm-singing,  whining, 
lying  fraud  who  steals  "the  livery  of  the  court  of  Heaven  to  serve 
the  Devil  in."  He  exposed  its  smug  and  smirking  treachery.  He 
smote  its  villainously  dissem.bling  sanctity.  Moliere  did  not  need 
to  cry  out  with  Byron : 

"Oh  for  a  forty-parson  power  to  chant 
Thy  praise,  Hypocrisy!   Oh  for  a  hymn 

Loud  LS  the  virtues  thou  dost  loudly  vaunt, 
Not  practice!" 

Moliere  had  the  power,  and  he  wielded  it,  in  his  matchless  serio- 
comis  style,  like  a  cat-o'-nine-tails  in  the  hands  of  an  offended 
deity.  He  dragLred  the  slimy  wretches  from  the  sanctuaries  they 
had  polluted,  from  the  temples  they  had  disgraced,  from  the  pews 
they  had  befouled,  from  the  altars  they  had  profaned,  dishonored 
and  betrayed,  and  he  flayed  them  without  mercy.  He  gave  the 
rogues  the  bastinado,  without  sparing  corn  or  bunion.  He  singed 
the  wool  from  +he  sheeps'  clothing  which  they  wore,  and  bared 
the  ravening  wolves.  He  lanced  the  most  malignant  ulcer  on  the 
face  of  human  :.ociety,  and  he  cauterized  the  wound.  Naturally, 
the  French  Pecksniffs  were  offended.  These  whited  sepulchres 
belched  forth  their  carrion  criticisms  in  life,  and  pursued  him 
vindictively  in  deatli.  But  Tartuffe  yet  points  the  detecting 
finger  of  scorn,  whik'  Moliere  still  lives,  and  mocks,  and  smiles! 
Another  fraud  laid  bare  by  his  unsparing  pen  was  the  medical 
quack.     The  quack  doctor  and  the  quack  preacher  usually  go 


MOLIERE  157 

/ 
hand  in  hand.  It  is  impossible  to  detect  the  one  without  perceiv- 
ing the  other.  Moliere  saw  them  both  with  an  undimmed  eye, 
and  he  lashed  them  with  a  fearless  hand.  His  four  medical  come- 
dies are  masterpieces  of  their  kind.  He  was  acting  a  part  in  the 
last  one,  Le  Malade  imaginaire,  when  suddenly  stricken  on  the 
stage.  He  was  removed  to  his  home,  and  a  half  hour  later  he 
was  dead.  His  brave  spirit  had  gone  where  the  quack  doctors 
have  sent  very  many,  but  whither,  there  is  reason  to  believe,  no 
quack  preacher  has  ever  followed. 

Moliere  will  forever  be  read  and  enjoyed  for  his  vivacious 
brilliancy,,  his  humorous  dialogue,  his  bright,  scintillating  and 
inimitible  gayety,  his  elegant,  poHte  and  polished  satire,  his  in- 
cisive ridicule,  his  wholesomeness,  and  his  skillful  delineation  of 
character.  His  innocent  mirth  and  pleasantry  charm  with  a  be- 
witching subtlet\  that  dies  not  with  the  flight  of  time.  Moliere 
would  be  known  as  the  French  Plautus,  but  for  the  fact  that  he 
surpasses  by  an  immeasurable  distance  his  Roman  model.  He 
hardly  equals  the  gentlemanly  elegance  of  Terence,  but  he  sur- 
passes him  in  every  other  respect.  He  wrote  better  comedies 
than  Shakespeare,  and  no  English  comic  writer  touches  him  in 
•spirited  and  easy  versification. 

In  the  words  of  the  distinguished  Dr.  Blair,  'The  dramatic 
author  in  whom  the  French  glory  most,  and  whom  they  justly 
place  at  the  head  of  all  their  comedians,  is  the  famous  Moliere. 
There  is,  indeed,  no  author  in  all  the  fruitful  and  distinguished 
age  of  Louis  XIV.,  who  has  attained  a  higher  reputation  than 
Moliere,  or  who  has  more  nearly  reached  the  summit  of  perfec- 
tion in  his  own  ait,  according  to  the  judgment  of  all  the  French 
critics.  Voltaiie  boldly  pronounces  him  to  be  the  most  eminent 
comic  poet  of  any'  age  or  country ;  nor,  perhaps,  is  this  the  decision 
of  mere  partiality;  for,  taking  him  upon  the  whole,  I  know  none 
who  deserves  to  be  prefered  to  him."  To  which  we  may  add 
the  observation  of  Prof.  Wells,  that  "no  dramatist,  save  perhaps 
Shakespeare  and  Aristophanes,  ever  joined  so  much  wit  to  so 
much  seriousne:^,s  as  did  Moliere."  His  name  will  forever  stand 
enshrined  with  those  of  Goethe,  Shakespeare,  Lope  de  Vega  and 
Sophocles,  monarchs  of  the  stage,  and  shining  servitors  of  truth. 


VIII. 


LA  FONTAINE. 

Jean  de  La  Fontaine,  ''the  French  .$]sop,"  was  the  greatest 
of  modern  fabulists.  Florian  and  others  have  followed  him  in 
vain.  Born  in  1C21,  he  was  one  year  older  than  his  friend  Moliere, 
but  he  survived  the  great  master  of  French  comedy  twenty-two 
years.  Although  he  was  intimate  with  Racine,  Boileau,  and  other 
j^reat  literary  lights  of  the  time,  it  is  said  that  Moliere  was  one 
of  the  few  who  grasped  the  true  literary  significance  and  value 
cf  La  Fontaine's  work.  Although  he  led  a  reckless  hfe,  his  last 
years  were  given  over  to  religious  penance,  and  when  he  died  the 
saintly,  sweet-souled  Fenelon  lamented  his  death  in  eulogistic 
strain. 

La  Fontaine  vas  born  at  the  historic  site  of  Chateau-Thierry. 
There  his  father  was  superintendent  of  forests.  The  junior  La 
Fontaine  afterwards  had  an  opportunity  to  fill  his  father's  office, 
but  the  forestry  service  did  not  appeal  to  him.  Indeed,  nothing 
in  the  nature  of  labor  or  responsibility  found  favor  in  his  eyes. 
He  refused  to  bind  himself  to  any  kind  of  occupation,  and  finally 
fell  to  writing  poetry.  He  dedicated  his  "Adonis"  to  the  minister, 
Foquet.  and  was  at  once  received  into  the  minister's  household. 
Upon  the  fall  of  the  minister  he  was  successively  patronized  by  a 
number  of  rich  and  noble  ladies  who  were  delighted  with  the 
salacious  tales  he  wrote  after  the  manner  of  Boccaccio — the 
**Contes  et  nouvelles  en  vers."  As  he  grew  older  he  gradually 
abandoned  his  ''Contes",  and  devoted  his  talents  to  the  "Fables." 

No  French  writer  of  the  seventeenth  century  has  retained  a 
more  widespread  and  continuous  popularity.  The  Fables  have 
been  translated  into  every  language,  and  are  now  reckoned  a  part 
of  the  world's  best  literature.  These  writings  display  a  certain 
pleasing  intermixture  of  archness  and  vivacity  with  much  solid 
and  serious  wisdom.  He  manifests  a  perfection  of  elegant  beauty 
which  almost  rivals  Phaedrus ;  although  he  is  sometimes  redund- 


158 


LA  FONTAINE  159 

ant,  and  often  lacks  the  perspicuity  and  ease  of  his  Roman  model, 
whom  he  greatly  excels,  however,  in  the  richness  of  his  humor, 
and  in  his  versatile  amiability.  His  beauties  are  thus  summa- 
rized by  a  modern  critic,  who  says  of  his  Fables :  "The  graceful 
liveliness  of  their  narration,  the  unrestrained  naturalism  of  their 
description,  the  homdy  wisdom  of  their  unobtruded  moral,  the 
boldness  of  their  covert  political  teaching  (especially  in  later 
years),  the  shrewd  analysis  and  observation  of  human  motive, 
has  been  a  perpetual  delight  to  generations,"  Upon  the  whole, 
his  Fables  may  be  said  to  in  some  measure  make  amends  for  the 
shocking  impropriety  of  his  "Contes,"  which  were  often  too 
highly  seasoned  for  oven  the  Grand  Monarch  himself,  who  made 
La  Fontaine  promise  to  be  good  before  consenting  to  his  election 
to  the  Academy.  He  was  a  roistering,  mad-cap  rake,  but  a  good 
fellow  withal,  and  could  say  things  that  stick  in  the  memory. 
Here  is  one:  "Fvery  newspaper  editor  owes  tribute  to  the  devil." 
And  he  might  have  added — but  why  pursue  a  subject  so  painful? 
At  any  rate,  as  he  says  elsewhere,  "Nothing  can  satisfy  the  fas- 
tidious." And  again  he  says:  "Beware  so  long  as  you  live,  of 
judging  people  bv  appearances" — 

Garde-toi,  tant  que  tu  vivras, 

De  juger  des  gens  sur  la  mine! 

Another  phrase  v-/hich  has  become  a  proverb:  "Better  a  living 
beggar  than  a  b.iried  emperor,"  Indeed,  as  Lessing  tells  us,  in 
his  "Nathan  der  Weise":  "The  real  beggar  is  the  true  and  only 
king" — 

Der  wahre  Bettler  ist 

Doch  einzig  und  allein  der  wahre  Koenig. 
Which  suggests  to  us,  as  La  For^taine  says  in  another  fable,  "In 
everything  we  ought  to  consider  the  end,"  And  in  another  he 
says:  "Alas!  wo  see  that  the  small  have  always  suffered  for  the 
follies  of  the  great."  This,  too,  is  very  wise:  "Gentleness  suc- 
ceeds better  than  violence  "  So,  also :  "We  read  on  the  forehead 
of  those  who  are  su}  rounded  by  a  foolish  luxury,  that  Fortune 
sells  what  she  is  thought  to  give,"  But  we  cannot  grasp  La  Fon- 
taine mei  ely  in  excerpts.     One  must  read  the  Fables. 


IX. 

VOLTAIRE. 

Francois  Arouet  (who  took  the  name  of  Voltaire) ,  the  son  of 
a  Paris  notary,  was  born  in  1694,  and  at  the  age  of  ten  was  sent 
to  a  Jesuit  college,  where  he  remained  for  seven  years  and  at- 
tained a  vast  proficiency  in  the  classics.  His  father  destined  him 
for  the  bar,  and  after  leaving  the  Jesuit  school,  at  the  age  of 
seventeen,  he  devoted  three  years  to  the  study  of  law,  but  finally 
gave  his  whole  thought  to  the  classics.  He  began  writing  clever 
satires  and  graceful  verses.  Shortly  after  the  death  of  Louis 
XIV.,  Voltaire  was  accused  of  writing  satires  against  the  Duke 
of  Orleans.  He  was  exiled  from  Paris,  and  upon  his  return  was 
committed  to  the  Bastile  for  a  period  of  eleven  months.  While 
in  prison  he  planned  his  Henj-iade,  the  leading  epic  poem  of  the 
French  language,  committing  the  lines  to  memory  as  he  composed 
them,  inasmuch  as  he  was  not  permitted  the  use  of  writing  ma- 
terials. 

For  eight  years  after  his  release  he  remained  m  Paris,  writ- 
ing for  the  stage.  His  first  tragedy,  the  (Edipus,  in  the  manner 
of  Sophocles,  was  a  brilliant  success.  Because  of  a  quarrel  with 
a  person  of  rank  he  was  again  committed  to  the  Bastile,  where 
he  remained  for  six  months,  and  was  released  only  on  condition 
that  he  leave  France.  He  repaired  to  England,  where  he  re- 
mained for  two  years  and  eight  months,  winning  the  favor  of  the 
King  and  Queen,  and  enjoying  the  companionship  of  the  great 
literary  personages  of  the  time.  While  in  England  he  published 
the  Henriade,  which  celebrates  the  triumph  of  Henry  IV.  over 
the  arms  of  the  League.  He  now  began  his  history  of  Charles 
XII.  of  Sweden,  collecting  the  materials  from  the  Swedish  am- 
bassador at  the  English  court. 

Upon  his  return  to  Paris,  Voltaire  applied  himself  to  financial 

160 


VOLTAIRE  161 

speculation,  and  gained  an  independent  fortune.  But  he  did  not 
cease  to  write,  especially  for  the  stage.  He  composed,  in  all, 
twenty-six  tragedies,  all  of  which  met  with  a  high  degree  of  popu- 
lar favor.  His  Zaire  was  popular  on  the  Swedish  stage  for  many 
years.  Again  brought  into  trouble  because  of  his  writings,  he 
left  Paris  in  1734.  Considerations  of  personal  safety  induced  him 
to  fix  his  residence  at  Cirey,  near  the  French  frontier.  His  in- 
come from  his  investments  was  now  about  $15,000  per  year,  a 
large  sum  for  that  day.  He  continued  to  reside  at  this  place  for 
fifteen  years,  leading  a  life  of  cultured  ease,  writing  for  the  stage, 
and  letting  fly,  in  every  direction,  the  shafts  of  his  ridicule,  flood- 
ing Europe  with  pamphlets,  and  making  of  himself,  generally,  an 
international  character.  Europe  shook  with  his  laughter;  courts 
and  kingdoms  trembled  at  his  frown. 

In  July,  1750,  he  accepted  the  invitation  of  Frederick  the 
Great  to  fix  his  residence  at  the  court  of  Berlin,  thus  giving  of- 
fense to  the  King  of  France.  While  at  Berlin  he  completed  his 
history  of  Louis  XIV.,  his  greatest  historical  work,  which  set  up 
a  hew  standard  of  historical  com.position  in  France.  It  was  this 
work  that  caused  Madame  du  Duffand  to  say  of  Voltaire,  that 
"he  has  invented  history."  At  the  end  of  a  little  more  than  two 
years  he  quarreled  with  Frederick,  and  barely  made  his  escape 
from  Germany  in  safety.  Louis  XV.  declined  to  permit  his  re- 
turn to  Paris.  He  now  located  in  Switzerland,  and  his  retreat 
near  Geneva  became  a  mecca  for  literary  pilgrims  from  all  lands. 
Among  those  who  visited  him  here  was  Oliver  Goldsmith.  Here 
he  lived  for  more  than  twenty  years. 

Following  the  Lisbon  earthquake  of  1755,  Voltaire  wrote  a 
poem  entitled  "The  Disaster  of  Lisbon."  In  this  poem,  and  in 
his  novel,  "Candide,"  he  denies  that  all  the  events  which  take 
place  in  the  universe  form  part  of  a  divine  plan.  These  works, 
together  with  his  part  in  the  "Encyclopaedia,"  and  numerous 
pamphlets  and  satirical  writings,  brought  upon  him  the  charge 
of  irreligion. 

At  the  age  of  eighty-four  he  visited  Paris  for  the  last  time. 
He  was  received  with  the  utmost  enthusiasm.     He  was  lionized 


162  VOLTAIRE 

by  the  multitude,  and  fawned  upon  by  the  great.  A  special  meet- 
ing of  the  French  Academy  was  held,  to  deliver  eulogies  in  his 
honor.  At  the  Theatre  Francaise  he  witnessed  the  first  presen- 
tation of  his  tragedy  "Irene,"  and  his  bust  was  publicly  crowned 
on  the  stage,  in  his  presence.  He  was  carried  to  his  coach  in 
triumph  on  the  shoulders  of  the  crowd,  and  he  returned  to  his 
apartments  never  to  come  forth  again.  He  died  May  30,  1778. 
Before  his  death  he  wrote  these  words :  *T  die  adoring  God,  lov- 
ing my  friends,  not  hating  my  enemies,  and  detesting  supersti- 
tion." 

While  on  this  visit  to  Paris,  Benjamin  Franklin,  the  represen- 
tative of  the  infant  American  republic,  took  his  young  grandson 
to  Voltaire  and  besought  his  blessing  upon  the  child.  Voltaire 
placed  his  hands  upon  the  boy's  head  and  pronounced,  in  English, 
the  words :    "God  and  Liberty." 

Voltaire  always  denied  the  charge  of  atheism.  He  wrote  to 
d'Alembert:  "I  want  you  to  crush  the  Infamous.  *  *  *  You  will 
understand  that  I  mean  superstition  only.  Religion  I  love  and 
respect."  But  what  did  he  mean  by  religion?  In  what  sort  of 
God  did  he  believe?  What  was  his  moral  code?  Voltaire's  pri- 
vate life  was  one  of  unrestrained  license.  He  believed  and  prac- 
ticed, from  his  earliest  manhood,  the  doctrine  of  "free  love,"  con- 
tinuously and  persistently.  While  pleading  for  liberty  and  law, 
he  was  loyal  to  no  government  under  the  sun.  What  appeared 
to  be  a  beacon-light  of  liberty  in  his  hand,  became  an  incendiary's 
torch  in  the  hands  of  his  followers.  But  he  was  one  of  the  colos- 
sal figures  of  his  day,  and  no  writer,  in  any  age  of  the  world's 
history,  ever  did  more  to  unsettle  the  minds  of  men.  As  Lord 
Macaulay  said,  in  his  essay  on  Frederick  the  Great:  "Voltaire 
could  not  build;  he  could  only  pull  down;  he  was  the  very  Vitru- 
vius  of  ruin.  He  has  bequeathed  to  us  not  a  single  doctrine  to 
be  called  by  his  name,  not  a  single  addition  to  the  stock  of  our 
positive  knowledge.  But  no  human  teacher  ever  left  behind  him 
so  vast  and  terrible  a  wreck  of  truths  and  falsehoods,  of  things 
noble  and  things  base,  of  things  useful  and  things  pernicious." 

Voltaire  was  an  adept  at  flashy  epigram.     Thus,  his  saying: 


VOLTAIRE  163 

"If  there  were  no  God,  it  would  be  necessary  to  invent  him."  As 
if  the  finite  could  invent  the  Infinite!  Such  remarks  illustrate 
the  shallowness  of  his  philosophy.  Nor  do  they  prove  his  belief 
in  God.  They  prove  the  contrary.  Such  a  phrase  is  on  a  par 
with  Robert  G.  Ingersoll's  blasphemous  witticism:  "An  honest 
God  is  the  noblest  work  of  man." 

Voltaire's  essay  on  epic  poetry  is  good.  Some  of  his  trage- 
dies are  superb.  It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  his  tragedies,  for 
the  most  part,  display  an  exalted  morality  and  a  truly  religious 
sentim.ent.  His  History  of  the  Age  of  Louis  XIV.  is  one  of  the 
greatest  historical  works  ever  produced  in  France.  But  ?iis  Hen- 
riade,  the  publication  of  which  caused  him  to  be  hailed  at  the  time 
as  a  second  Virgil,  has  not  survived  the  mature  and  sober  judg- 
ment of  posterity.  Indeed,  Voltaire  is  chiefly  of  interest  now, 
only  as  a  mighty  precursor  of  revolution;  a  revolution  which 
enthroned  in  Paris  a  naked  woman  as  the  Goddess  of  Reason,  and 
engulfed  Europe  for  twenty  years  in  blood.  But  that  sanguinary 
catastrophe  would  have  found  other  heralds,  if  Voltaire  had  never 
lived.  It  had  to  be.  Where  there  are  bastiles,  and  lese  majestie, 
and  lettres  de  cachet,  where  government  is  both  tyrannical  and 
corrupt,  and  society  is  rotten  to  the  core,  there  must  be  reforma- 
tion or  there  will  be  revolution.  And  France  could  not  reform. 
It  was  too  late.  The  disease  had  gone  too  far.  The  hour  of  dis- 
solution approached ;  the  hour  of  death  for  organized  society  had 
arrived ;  and  only  after  death  could  a  new  life  arise. 


X. 


HUGO. 

Viccor  Hugo  was  born  m  1802,  the  year  in  which  Napoleon 
Bonaparte  was  elected  First  Consul  for  life,  and  his  career  was 
prolonged  to  within  fifteen  years  of  the  close  of  the  nineteenth 
century.  Reckoned  in  terms  of  American  chronology,  he  was 
born  one  year  before  Thomas  Jefferson  accomplished  the  Louisi- 
ana Purchase,  and  he  died  in  the  first  year  of  Grover  Cleveland's 
first  term  as  President  of  the  United  States.  In  his  infancy  the 
dying  thunders  of  the  first  Revolution  echoed  in  his  ears,  and  he 
hved  to  see  France  recover  from  the  crushing  disaster  of  the 
Franco-Prussian  War.  His  youth  witnessed  the  splendors  of  the 
first  Napoleon,  and  his  old  age  saw  the  scepter  fall  from  the  nerve- 
less hand  of  Napoleon  HI. 

Hugo  was  thirteen  years  of  age  when  the  dream  of  the  great 
Napoleon  was  extinguished  at  Waterloo.  He  was  a  young  man, 
distinguishing  himself  in  literary  work,  when  the  long  reign  of 
George  HI.  of  England  came  to  an  end,  and  was  known  among 
the  most  distinguished  French  authors  when  Queen  Victoria  as- 
sumed the  throne  of  England  in  1837.  He  flourished  during 
nearly  the  whole  period  of  her  long  and  illustrious  reign,  was  per- 
sonally acquainted  with  nearly  all  the  great  English  men  of  letters 
of  the  Victorian  era,  and  survived  nearly  all  the  great  names  of 
that  glorious  literary  period.  He  published  his  "Les  Miserables" 
in  1862,  just  as  the  opening  scenes  were  being  enacted  in  the 
bloody  drama  of  the  great  American  Civil  War,  and  although  he 
had  then  lived  longer  than  Shakespeare  lived,  he  still  had  nearly 
a  half  century  of  active  life  before  him. 

Modern  history  exhibits  no  other  character  who  witnessed 
so  mighty  a  succession  of  events,  who  bore  an  active  and  an  hon- 
orable part  in  the  stirring  scenes  through  which  he  passed,  and 


164 


HUGO  ,  165 

who  was  capable  of  intelligently  observing,  as  he  observed,  the 
whole  of  the  vast  panorama  of  the  Age  of  Revolutions.  Little 
wonder  that  his  80th  birthday,  in  1882,  was  celebrated  through- 
out the  civilized  world !  Rightly,  indeed,  did  he  inspire  the  sonnet 
of  Alfred  Tennyson,  who  thus  saluted  him: 

"Victor  in  poesy !    Victor  in  romance ! 

Cloud-weaver  of  phantasmal  hopes  and  fears, 

French  of  the  French,  and  lord  of  human  tears ! 
Child-lover,  bard,  whose  fame-lit  laurels  glance,  \ 

Darkening  the  wreaths  of  all  that  would  advance 

Beyond  our  strait  their  claim  to  be  thy  peers ! 

Weird  Titan,  by  thy  wintry  weight  of  years 

As  yet  unbroken !    Stormy  voice  of  France,"  etc. 

Victor  Hugo  was  the  son  of  one  of  Napoleon's  generals.  His 
childhood  was  spent  in  Spain,  and  his  early  education  was  super- 
intended by  his  mother,  a  cultured  woman,  from  whom,  no  doubt, 
he  drew  his  early  predilections  for  literature.  His  "Odes  et 
Poesies"  appeared  in  1822,  when  he  was  but  twenty  years  of  age. 
Louis  XVHL  at  once  granted  him  a  pension,  and  the  young  poet 
promptly  contracted  a  happy  marriage,  the  beginning  of  a  domes- 
tic hfe  which  was  to  sustain  him  in  all  his  trials,  and  which  proved 
a  model  of  propriety,  purity  and  peace.  Throughout  his  long 
life  his  literary  work  never  ceased.  He  is  the  author  of  many 
dramas,  novels  and  poems.  To  English  readers  he  is  best  known 
for  his  novels,  doubtless  because  of  the  difficulty  of  adequately 
rendering  French  verse  into  English ;  but  among  his  own  coun- 
trymen his  claims  to  immortality,  though  amply  sustained  by  his 
romances,  will  rest  chiefly  upon  his  verse.  He  was  one  of  the 
greatest  lyrical  bards  of  all  time. 

Living  in  the  France  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and  possess- 
ing his  ardent  temperament,  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  so 
great  a  genius  could  be  dissociated  from  the  political  life  of  the 
period.  In  1848  he  was  a  member  of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies. 
Following  Napoleon's  coup  d'etat  of  1851  he  went  into  exile,  and 
in  the  next  year  appeared  his  "Napoleon  the  Little,"  a  fierce  attack 


166 


HUGO 


on  the  king,  followed  by  the  "Les  Chatiments,"  in  the  same 
satirical  vein,  which  has  since  become  a  classic.  In  his  exile  on 
the  islands  of  Jersey  and  Guernsey  he  redoubled  his  literary 
efforts,  and  in  1862  his  vast  romance  of  "Les  Miserables"  was 
published  simultaneously  in  ten  languages,  an  event  unexampled 
in  the  history  of  literature.  In  1871,  with  the  collapse  of  the 
Third  Empire,  he  was  back  in  France,  and  a  member  of  the 
National  Assembly  at  Bordeaux.  In  1876  he  was  elected  Senator 
for  life.  He  was  now  poet  laureate  of  the  Third  Republic.  Ad- 
vancing age  brought  no  diminution  of  his  literary  powers,  and  he 
was  at  the  height  of  his  glory  when  he  died,  on  May  22,  1885. 
Lanson  wrote:  ''When  Victor  Hugo  took  his  leave  of  the  world, 
it  seemed  as  if  he  had  carried  French  poetry  with  him."  His 
body  was  allowed  to  he  in  state  beneath  the  Arc  de  Triomphe. 
His  funeral  surpassed  in  magnificence  any  royal  pageant,  and  he 
was  interred  in  the  pantheon,  the  relics  of  the  patron  saint  of 
Paris,  Sainte  Genevieve,  being  removed  to  provide  a  place  for 
his  remains. 


C.  C.  Starkweather  says:  "We  might  demonstrate  that  he 
was  the  greatest  lyrical  poet  of  France.  His  great  novels  were 
prose  epics."  Another  adds:  "He  is  perhaps  the  greatest  mas- 
ter of  language  that  we  know ;  a  great  writer,  rather  than  a  great 
author,  and  therefore  the  more  sure  of  an  enduring  democratic 
fame.  He  has  formed  the  rhetorical  and  poetic  taste  of  three 
generations  of  French  youth.  All  schools  of  French  verse  that 
have  arisen  in  the  last  half -century  have  united  to  call  him  their 
father." 

Victor  Hugo  was  not  a  great  statesman.  He  was  not  a  great 
philosopher.  He  had  not  the  intellect  of  a  Diderot  nor  the  scholar- 
ship of  a  Renan.  He  was  not  even  a  very  successful  politician. 
But  he  has  touched  the  heart  of  the  world  by  his  intensity  of 
pathos  and  his  warmth  of  universal  sympathy.  He  is  a  writer 
of  great  rhetorical  richness  and  rhythmical  beauty,  and  of  limit- 
less imagination.  He  is  unsurpassed  in  vivid  descriptive  power. 
In  sheer  tempestuous  force  of  expression  we  do  not  know,  his  mas- 


HUGO  167 

ter.  His  literary  style  is  in  the  highest  degree  oratorical,  and 
we  therefore  naturally  find  hin^  to  be  an  orator  second  to  no 
Frenchman  of  his  generation.  His  oration  upon  the  centenary  of 
Voltaire,  in  1878,  is  a  masterpiece  of  eloquence.  His  oration  on 
the  death  of  Honore  de  Balzac  is  almost  as  great.  A  fine  speci- 
men of  his  forensic  power  is  found  in  his  oration  against  capital 
punishment.  In  1851  his  son,  the  publisher  of  a  newspaper,  was 
prosecuted  for  lack  of  respect  for  the  laws,  because  of  his  report 
of  a  legal  execution  which  occurred  in  circumstances  peculiarly 
brutal.  Victor  Hugo  defended  his  son  before  a  jury.  His  speech 
stands  to  this  day  as  probably  the  most  powerful  arraignment  of 
the  death  penalty  that  ever  fell  from  the  lips  of  man. 

He  referred  to  the  cruel  and  vengeful  laws  of  capital  punish- 
ment as  "those  laws  that  dip  the  linger  in  human  blood  to  write 
the  commandment.  Thou  shalt  not  kill;  those  impious  laws  that 
make  one  lose  faith  in  humanity  when  they  strike  the  guilty, 
and  that  cause  one  to  doubt  God  when  they  smite  the  innocent." 
But  the  thrilling  climax  of  this  wonderful  effort  was  reached 
when  he  said:  "Yes,  I  declare  it,  this  old  and  unwise  law  of  re- 
taliation, this  law  which  requires  blood  for  blood,  I  have  combatted 
it  all  my  life — all  my  life,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  and  as  long  as 
I  have  breath  I  will  combat  it;  with  all  my  efforts  as  a  writer  I 
will  combat  it,  and  with  all  my  acts  and  votes  as  a  legislator;  I 
declare  it  (here  he  pointed  to  a  crucifix  hanging  on  the  wall  of  the 
court  room)  before  that  Victim  of  the  death  penalty  who  is  there, 
who  sees  us  and  who  hears  us  I  I  swear  it  before  that  cross, 
where,  two  thousand  years  ago,  as  an  everlasting  testimony  for 
generations  to  come,  human  law  nailed  the  Law  Divine!" 

Hugo  was  also  an  adept  in  the  use  of  the  crayon.  The  mas- 
terwork  of  his  artistry  in  this  regard  is  his  "Execution  of  John 
Brown."  The  volatile  French  author  had  been  deeply  affected  by 
the  anti-slavery  movement  in  the  United  States.  When  John 
Brown  was  sent  to  the  gallows,  Hugo  summoned  his  crayon  in 
aid  of  his  pen,  and  produced  the  gruesome  sketch  of  a  tattered 
figure  dangling  from  a  gibbet  in  the  moonlight.     He  inscribed  it 


168  HUGO 

"Pro  Christo  sicut  Christus" — and  under  it  he  wrote  the  single 
word,  "Ecce."  The  drawing  created  a  profound  sensation  in 
America,  and  in  the  early  part  of  the  Civil  War  it  was  used 
throughout  the  Northern  States  in  aid  of  recruiting.  He  hated 
slavery  as  he  hated  capital  punishment.  Later  he  wrote:  "The 
scaffold  is  the  friend  of  slavery.  The  shadow  of  a  gallows  is 
projected  over  the  fratricidal  war  of  the  United  States;"  and  he 
referred  to  "this  monstrous  penalty  of  death,  the  glory  of  which 
it  is  to  have  raised  upon  the  earth  two  crucifixes,  that  of  Jesus 
Christ  in  the  old  world  and  that  of  John  Brown  in  the  new." 


PART  SIX 

GREAT  GERMAN  AUTHORS 


I.  GOETHE. 

IL  SCHILLER, 

m.  LESSING. 

IV.  KANT. 

V.  RICHTER. 
VL  KLOPSTOCK. 

VII.  WIELAND. 

VIII.  HERDER. 

IX.  HEINE. 

X.  WEBER. 


From  1780  to  1830  Germany  has  produced  all  the 
ideas  of  our  historic  age;  and  for  half  a  century  still,  per- 
haps for  a  whole  century,  our  great  work  will  be  to  think 
them  out  again.  *  *  *  The  philosophic  German  genius, 
which,  having  engendered  a  new  metaphysics,  theology, 
poetry,  literature,  linguistic  science,  an  exegesis,  erudi- 
tion, descends  now  into  the  sciences  and  continues  its 
evolution.  No  more  original  spirit,  more  universal,  more 
fertile  in  consequences  of  every  scope  and  species,  more 
capable  of  transforming  and  reforming  everything,  has 
appeared  for  three  hundred  years.  It  is  of  the  same 
order  as  that  of  the  Renaissance  and  of  the  Classical  Age. 
It,  like  them,  connects  itself  with  the  great  works  of 
contemporary  intelligence,  appears  in  all  civilized  lands, 
is  propagated  with  the  same  inward  qualities,  but  under 
different  forms.  It,  like  them,  is  one  of  the  epochs  of 
the  world's  history. 

—  (Hippolyte  Adolphe  Taine,  "History  of  English 
Literature;"  Bk.  V.,  Chap.  IV.;  translated  from 
the  French,  by  Henri  Van  Laun. 


I. 

GOETHE. 

The  German  Apollo,  Johann  Wolfgang  von  Goethe,  the  great- 
est literary  genius  of  the  Germanic  race,  is,  after  Aristotle,  the 
world's  most  perfect  specimen  of  the  universal  mind.  He  is  of 
the  select  company  of  the  super-great.  "Of  great  men  among  so 
many  millions  of  noted  men,"  said  that  great  Englishman, 
Thomas  Carlyle,  "it  is  computed  that  in  our  time  there  have  been 
but  two;  one  in  the  practical,  another  in  the  speculative  province: 
Napoleon  Bounaparte  and  Johann  Wolfgang  von  Goethe — Goethe 
intrinsically  of  much  more  unquestionable  merit." 

Goethe  united  in  rare  degree  the  pristine  fires  of  Homer,  the 
melancholy  grandeur  of  Dante,  and  the  subtle  witchery  of  Shake- 
speare. But  he  possessed  a  perennial  freshness  of  fancy  and  a 
certain  sweetness  of  melody,  combined  with  a  statuesque  dignity 
all  his  own.  In  sheer  force  and  scope  of  intellect  he  surpasses  any 
man  who  ever  dipped  a  pen  in  the  etherial  fountains  of  immortal 
verse.  The  learned  French  critic,  Taine,  calls  him  "the  master  of 
all  modern  minds,"  and  "the  father  and  promoter  of  all  lofty 
modern  ideas."  Another  of  the  most  brilliant  minds  of  France, 
Madame  de  Stael,  has  observed :  "Goethe  may  be  taken  as  the 
representative  of  all  German  literature.  He  unites  everything 
which  distinguishes  Germany,  and  nothing  is  so  remarkable  as  a 
kind  of  imaginative  power,  in  which  Italians,  English,  or  French, 
have  no  part." 

This  prince  of  poesy  was  born  at  Frankfort-on-the-Main, 
Aug.  28,  1749,  the  son  of  lawyer  who  was  a  man  of  wealth  and 
position.  His  mother  was  a  woman  of  rare  talent,  and  her  in- 
fluence upon  the  development  of  Goethe's  genius  may  be  readily 
traced.  From  her,  in  large  measure,  he  imbibed  the  gift  of  story- 
telling, and  his  precocious  fondness  for  the  classics.  At  the  ten- 
der age  of  eight  he  had  already  acquired  some  knowledge  of  Greek, 

169 


170  '  GOETHE 

Latin,  French  and  Italian,  and  he  later  perfected  himself  in 
Hebrew.  In  vain  did  Goethe's  father  seek  to  bind  the  towering 
intellect  of  this  young  mental  giant  with  the  meshes  of  the  law. 
He  studied  law,  indeed,  but  it  was  the  law  of  life,  the  law  of  light. 
He  soon  passed  beyond  the  barren  confines  of  civil  jurisprudence 
to  the  laws  of  time  and  space  and  planetary  motion,  to  the  laws  of 
growth  and  decay,  of  beauty  and  of  truth;  of  the  airy  filaments 
of  thought,  elementary  spirits — "film  of  flame  who  flit  and  wave 
in  eddying  motion!  birth  and  the  grave,  an  infinite  ocean,  a  web 
ever  growing,  a  life  ever  glowing,  ply  at  Time's  whizzing  loom, 
and  weave  the  vesture  of  God"  (Faust,  Sc.  1) ;  of  the  law,  indeed, 
as  Richard  Hooker  saw  it — "Of  Law  there  can  be  no  less  acknowl- 
edged than  that  her  seat  is  the  bosom  of  God,  her  voice  the  har- 
mony of  the  world.  All  things  in  heaven  and  earth  do  her  homage, 
— ^the  very  least  as  feeling  her  care,  and  the  greatest  as  not 
exempted  from  her  power." 

After  a  few  years  at  Leipsic,  Goethe  was  sent  to  complete 
his  education  at  Strasburg.  Here  he  met  Herder,  who  exerted 
a  powerful  influence  upon  his  literary  character.  Among  the  inci- 
dents of  his  student  life  at  Strasburg,  Goethe  tells  us  that  Herder 
upon  one  occasion  produced  a  German  translation  of  Goldsmith^s 
"Vicar  of  Wakefield,"  which  Herder  insisted  upon  reading  aloud 
to  a  select  group  of  students  before  permitting  them  to  peruse  it. 
The  touching  English  tale,  classic  in  its  simplicity,  made  a  deep 
impression  upon  the  sensitive  soul  of  Goethe.  From  his  earliest 
youth  he  had  been  producing  lyrics  and  love-songs  of  great  sweet- 
ness and  beauty,  but  attempted  no  great  serious  work  until  he 
left  the  university. 

Shortly  after  his  return  from  Strasburg,  in  1772,  he  pub- 
lished his  "Goetz  von  Berlichingen."  Its  success  was  widespread 
and  immediate.  He  was  at  once  acknowledged  as  the  foremost 
poet  of  Germany.  "Goetz"  was  translated  by  Walter  Scott,  and 
soon  gained  a  European  fame.  Soon  after  this  triumph  Goethe 
met  the  young  prince  Karl  August  of  Weimar;  a  meeting  which 
ripened  into  a  friendship  of  fifty-five  years,  and  which  was  to 
be  severed  only  by  death. 


GOETHE  171 

In  1774  Goethe's  "Sorrows  of  Werther"  appeared.  It  took 
Europe  by  storm.  When  Napoleon  Bounaparte  visited  Goethe  at 
Weimar  in  1806,  after  the  battle  of  Jena,  he  told  the  poet  that  he 
had  read  his  "Sorrows  of  Werther"  seven  times.  Napoleon  was 
so  impressed  upon  this  occasion  that,  addressing  Goethe,  he  ex- 
claimed :  "Vous  etes  un  homme" — You  are  a  man !  He  afterward 
invited  the  German  poet  to  Paris  and  decorated  him  with  the 
Legion  of  Honor. 

Karl  August  became  Grand  Duke  of  Saxe-Weimar  in  1775, 
and  at  once  invited  Goethe  to  become  a  member  of  his  court. 
The  poet  accepted  the  post  of  Privy  Councillor,  and  became,  suc- 
cessively, Minister  of  Finance  and  Prime  Minister.  Weimar  at 
once  became  the  literary  center  of  Germany,  if  not  of  Europe, 
and  here  the  genius  of  Goethe  shone  with  undimmed  splendor  for 
fifty-seven  years— until  his  death,  in  1832.  In  1825  the  fiftieth 
anniversary  of  his  residence  at  Weimar  was  celebrated,  all  Europe 
joining  in  the  jubilee.  A  medal  was  struck  in  England,  bearing 
an  inscription  from  one  of  his  recent  poems,  "Ohne  Hast,  ohne 
East" — without  haste,  without  rest — and  was  sent  to  him  with 
a  letter  signed  by  Southey,  Wordsworth,  Carlyle,  Scott,  Lockhart, 
and  others. 

When  he  had  been  at  Weimar  tor  more  than  a  decade,  Goethe 
procured  from  Karl  August  an  extended  leave  of  absence.  He 
now  undertook  his  famous  Italian  journey  and  remained  in  Italy 
for  two  years.  Many  of  his  finest  creations  are  the  fruits  of  his 
Italian  tour.  Upon  his  return  he  published,  in  rapid  succession, 
his  dramas  "Egmont,"  "Iphigenia"  and  "Tasso,"  together  with 
many  poems  of  an  unusual  character. 

In  1794  he  formed  the  friendship  of  Schiller,  a  friendship 
which  lasted  until  the  death  of  Schiller  in  1805.  "Literature  has 
no  more  perfect  relation  to  show  between  two  great  men  than 
this  between  Goethe  and  Schiller,"  says  Hjalmar  H.  Boyesen,  in 
his  "Life  of  Goethe."  "No  jealousy,  no  passing  disagreement, 
clouded  the  beautiful  serenity  of  their  intercourse.  They  met, 
as  it  were,  only  upon  the  altitudes  of  the  soul,  where  no  small  and 
petty  passions  have  the  power  to  reach.     Their  correspondence, 


172  GOETHE 

which  has  been  pubhshed,  is  a  noble  monument  to  the  worth  of 
both.  The  earnestness  with  which  they  discuss  the  principles  of 
their  art,  the  profound  conscientiousness  and  high-bred  courtesy 
with  which  they  criticize  each  other's  works,  and  their  generous 
rivalry  in  the  loftiest  excellence,  have  no  parallel  in  the  entire 
history  of  literature." 

In  1796  Goethe  pubhshed  his  "Wilhelm  Meister,"  which  added 
greatly  to  his  fame.  This  work  was  translated  into  English  by 
Thomas  Carlyle.  In  the  following  year  appeared  "Hermann  und 
Dorothea,"  one  of  the  sweetest  of  pastoral  tales.  But,  as  is  well 
known,  Goethe's  greatest  work  is  "Faust."  The  "History  of  Dr. 
Johann  Fausten"  made  its  first  appearance  in  literature  at  the 
book-fair  held  in  Frankfort-on-the-Main,  Goethe's  home  city,  in 
the  year  1587.  In  the  next  year  the  theme  was  seized  upon  in 
England  by  Marlowe,  who  made  it  the  basis  of  his  drama,  "The 
Tragedy  of  Dr.  Faustus."  In  Germany  the  same  subject  was 
twice  attempted  by  Lessing.  Friederich  Muller  dramatized  it,  and 
Klinger  made  it  the  subject  of  a  romance. 

Goethe,  in  1773,  just  one  hundred  and  eighty-six  years  from 
the  date  of  the  story's  first  appearance  in  the  city  of  his  birth, 
began  work  upon  his  "Faust,"  which  was  to  be  the  subject  of  his 
thought  for  almost  sixty  years,  and  thereafter  to  become  the 
monument  of  his  undying  fame.  He  published  the  first  part  in 
1808,  and  the  second  part,  completed  when  he  had  but  a  few 
months  of  life  before  him,  was  not  published  until  after  his  death. 
When  he  sealed  the  manuscript  of  the  second  part,  he  remarked 
that  it  was  of  little  consequence  what  he  did  thereafter,  or  if  he 
did  anything  at  all ;  that  his  life's  work  was  done.  His  last  words 
were  these:  "Let  the  light  enter."  And  so  he  winged  his  flight 
to  the  regions  of  eternal  light.  "In  him,"  we  may  say  with  Bayard 
Taylor,  "there  is  no  unfilled  promise,  no  fragmentary  destiny ;  he 
stands  as  complete  and  symmetrical  as  the  Parthenon;"  and  the 
world  with  one  accord  agrees  with  George  Henry  Lewes  that 
Goethe  truly  earns  the  title  "Great." 

Goethe  by  no  means  confined  his  work  to  literature  and  art. 
His  intellect  was  truly  Protean.    He  was  one  of  the  most  profound 


GOETHE  173 

scientific  students  of  his  day.  He  wrote  much  upon  scientific  sub- 
jects. He  made  discoveries  in  anatomy,  botany  and  geology.  He 
made  valuable  studies  in  optics.  His  intellect  was  omniverous. 
Nothing  was  too  lofty  for  its  reach,  or  too  deep  for  its  mighty 
grasp.  "He  saw  nature  in  her  grand  unity,"  as  Prof.  Boyesen 
says,  "and  his  penetrating  vision  saw  the  great  causal  chain  which 
unites  her  most  varied  phenomena."  Goethe  himself  has  said: 
"As  a  poet  I  am  a  polytheist;  as  a  naturalist,  a  pantheist;  as  a 
moral  man,  a  deist;  and  in  order  to  express  my  mind  I  need  all 
these  forms."  Writing  of  the  period  of  Goethe,  in  his  "History 
of  English  Literature,"  M.  Taine,  the  French  critic  and  philoso- 
pher, says:  "The  human  mind,  quitting  its  individual  sentiments 
to  adopt  sentiments  really  felt,  and  finally  all  possible  sentiments, 
found  its  pattern  in  the  great  Goethe,  who  by  his  Tasso,  Iphigenia, 
Divan,  his  second  part  of  Faust,  became  a  citizen  of  all  nations 
and  a  contemporary  of  all  ages,  seemed  to  live  at  pleasure  at  every 
point  of  time  and  place,  and  gave  an  idea  of  universal  mind." 

His  critical  faculty  was  most  astonishing,  and  his  literary 
judgments  will  forever  stand  as  the  law  from  which  there  is  no 
appeal.  We  may  glimpse  his  method  in  the  following  utterance: 
"The  prime  quality  of  the  real  critic,"  he  writes,  "is  sympathy. 
There  is  no  other  approach  to  a  man  or  a  race.  Men  rarely  under- 
stand that  which  they  hate,  but  they  rarely  fail  to  understand 
that  which  they  love."    All  which  is  as  true  as  the  Golden  Rule. 

Goethe  has  been  blamed  for  his  want  of  "patriotism."  When 
the  French  hordes  were  ravaging  the  lands  beyond  the  Rhine, 
when  the  world  was  shaken  with  revolutions  on  every  hand,  when 
the  very  ground  thrilled  beneath  the  tread  of  the  German  legions 
marching  to  the  defense  of  Fatherland,  when  all  Germany  was 
ringing  with  the  warsongs  of  Koerner,  Goethe's  lyre  was  silent — 
or  rather  let  us  say  that  his  lyre,  like  that  of  Anacreon,  had  no 
"bloody  string." 

Let  Goethe  answer.  He  does  answer,  in  these  words  to  Soret: 
"I  am  no  war-like  nature,  and  have  no  war-like  sense ;  war-songs 
would  have  been  a  mask  which  would  have  fitted  my  face  badly. 
I  have  never  affected  anything  in  poetry.    I  have  never  uttered 


174 


GOETHE 


anything  which  I  have  not  experienced  and  which  has  not  urged 
rae  to  production.  I  have  composed  love-songs  when  I  loved !  How 
could  I  write  songs  of  hate,  without  hating?  And,  between  our- 
selves, I  did  not  hate  the  French ;  although  I  thanked  God  when 
we  were  rid  of  them.  How  could  I,  to  whom  culture  and  bar- 
barism alone  are  of  importance,  hate  a  nation  which  is  among 
the  most  cultivated  of  the  earth,  and  to  which  I  owe  so  much  of 
my  own  culture  ?  Altogether,  national  hatred  is  a  peculiar  thing, 
and  you  will  always  find  it  strongest  at  the  lowest  stage  of  cul- 
ture." Here  is  the  soul  of  German  culture  speaking  to  the  world 
to-day,  as  it  spoke  a  hundred  years  ago!  For  culture  speaks  all 
languages  and  flies  all  flags.  Here  Goethe  rises  to  the  true  height 
of  his  majestic  character,  lifting  the  hand  only  in  blessing — not 
to  strike!  So  do  we  view  him  now,  in  the  mellow  light  of  a 
hundred  years.  Casting  its  rays  across  the  abyss  of  a  century, 
the  shining  soul  of  Goethe,  gleaming  from  his  far  Olympian 
height,  with  golden  voice  still  pleads  for  beauties  that  shall  never 
die,  for  forms  that  saber-thrusts  shall  never  mar,  for  songs  that 
ring  above  the  battle-cry,  for  culture  that  is  born  of  peace. 


IL 
SCHILLER. 

From  the  perusal  of  Goethe  the  mind  naturally  turns  to 
Schiller,  the  second  name  in  the  glorious  galaxy  of  Weimar,  and! 
Germany's  "poet  of  hberty."  Johann  Christoph  Friederich  vois 
Schiller  was  born  at  Marbach  in  1 759  (the  year  in  which  the  poet 
Robert  Burns  was  born) ,  and  was  ten  years  younger  than  Goethe. 

"These  names,"  says  a  recent  writer,  speaking  of  Goethe  and 
Schiller,  "are  household  words.  Prolific  as  each  of  these  im- 
mortals was,  more  has  been  written  about  them  than  they  ever 
wrote  about  anything.  Wiseacres  have  'peeped  and  botanized', 
pedants  have  oracularly  analyzed,  critics  have  viewed  and  re- 
viewed. It  is  as  if  one  should  try  to  put  the  Andes  or  the  Hima- 
layas under  a  microscope,  as  if  one  should  try  to  catch  the  roar  of 
Niagara  in  a  phonograph.  Goethe  and  Schiller:  they  stand  side 
by  side,  great  beacon-lights  of  German  poesy.  And  not  German 
poesy  alone.  They  are  Titans  of  world-genius,  crowned  kings  of 
universal  literature,  known  to  every  school-boy  and  poet  and 
philosopher  of  two  continents.  Safe  in  the  heart  of  humanityv 
the  ages  will  be  their  heirs.  They  are  on  the  heights  with  Homer 
and  Sophocles,  Milton  and  Shakespeare,  'like  gods  together,*' 
treasured  by  mankind."  . 

Schiller's  father,  an  honest  and  industrious  man,  but  ira 
humble  circumstances,  had  been  a  surgeon  in  the  Bavarian  aiiny,, 
in  the  service  of  the  Duke  of  Wurtemburg,  and  was  earning  his--, 
living  as  superintendent  of  the  Duke's  gardens  when  the  poefc 
was  born.  Young  Schiller  was  intended  for  the  pulpit,  but  was: 
obliged  to  forego  that  ambition  when  conscripted  for  the  ducal 
military  academy  at  Stuttgart,  where  he  was  subjected  to  an 
irksome  and  hateful  mihtary  discipline,  so  senseless,  brutalizing 
and  repulsive  as  to  kindle  the  fires  of  rebellion  in  his  poetic  souL 
He  sought  surcease  in  the  writings  of  Rousseau,  and  devoured 

175 


176  SCHILLER 

with  avidity  Wieland's  translation  of  Shakespeare  and  Goethe's 
"Sorrows  of  Werther."  Completely  at  war  with  his  surround- 
ings, and  sovereignly  detesting  the  noxious  militaristic  atmos- 
phere of  the  time  and  place,  he  yearned  to  strike  a  blow  for  free- 
dom, and  thus  it  was  that  Hterary  ambitions  gripped  his  heart. 

After  some  years  of  mental  anguish  in  the  military  straight- 
jacket,  assuaged  only  by  the  literary  labors  which  he  pursued  in 
secret,  Schiller  was  graduated  from  the  academy,  and  went  forth 
at  a  salary  of  $8  per  month,  as  an  army  surgeon,  in  the  service  of 
the  Duke  whom  he  so  cordially  hated.  But  the  hour  of  retribution 
was  near.  On  January  13,  1782,  Schiller's  first  play,  "The  Rob- 
bers," v/as  performed  at  Mannheim.  It  was  a  declaration  of  war 
against  civilization  as  it  then  existed,  and  was  the  first  bugle-note 
in  Schiller's  lifelong  battle-cry  of  freedom,  the  echoes  of  which 
have  reverberated  in  German  ears  for  more  than  a  hundred  years. 
Schiller  journeyed  secretly  to  Mannheim  to  witness  the  perfor- 
mance of  his  play.  He  was  undetected.  He  repeated  the  offense, 
and  the  Duke  placed  him  under  arrest  for  a  period  of  two  weeks 
and  promulgated  an  order  designed  to  prevent  Schiller  from  writ- 
ing anything  in  future  excepting  medical  treatises.  The  Duke 
could  as  easily  have  stopped  a  whirl-wind  with  a  sword-thrust. 
Schiller  asked  to  be  released  from  the  ducal  service.  The  Duke 
refused,  and  Schiller  fled  to  Mannheim,  September  17,  1782. 

Still  pursued  by  the  Duke,  he  found  refuge  on  the  private 
estate  of  Frau  von  Wolzogen.  In  this  retreat  he  remained  until 
July,  1783,  v>'orking  diligently  the  while,  completing  his  "Love 
and  Intrigue,"  and  formulating  his  great  drama,  "Don  Carlos." 
He  then  returned  to  Mannheim  to  accept  the  post  of  "poet  of  the 
theatre,"  under  contract  to  write  three  dramas  a  year.  After  an 
unsatisfactory  and  rather  precarious  existence  for  nearly  two 
years,  he  left  Mannheim,  in  1785,  going  first  to  Darmstadt,  where 
he  first  met  Goethe's  patron,  Karl  August,  "the  German  Mae- 
cenus,"  who  gave  him  an  honorary  title  as  Ducal  Court  Counsellor. 
Thence  he  betook  himself  to  Leipsic,  where  he  spent  some  time 
with  Korner  and  Huber.  He  removed  with  Korner  to  Dresden. 
There  he  completed  his  "Don  Carlos"  and  wrote  some  of  his  best 


SCHILLER  177 

poems.  The  publication  of  "Don  Carlos"  greatly  augmented  Schil- 
ler's reputation,  especially  in  France,  where  it  was  thought  to 
accord  with  the  spirit  of  the  French  Revolution,  and  in  conse- 
quence the  honor  of  French  citizenship  was  form.ally  bestowed 
on  Schiller  in  1792. 

In  July,  1787,  Schiller  repaired  to  Weimar,  then  famous  as 
the  German  literary  capital.  Goethe  was  still  absent  on  his  Itahan 
journey,  and  they  did  not  meet  until  1788.  They  did  not  become 
friends  until  som.e  years  after  their  first  meeting,  Schiller  having 
criticised  Goethe's  ''Egmont,"  and  Goethe  having  passed  some 
strictures  on  "The  Robbers." 

Following  the  completion  of  "Don  Carlos"  Schiller  first  es- 
sayed historical  writing,  in  his  "Revolt  of  the  Netherlands."  The 
work  is  characteristic  of  his  mode  of  thought.  Freedom  breathes 
in  every  line.  Ov/ing  to  the  influence  of  Goethe,  Schiller  was  now 
appointed  as  a  professor  of  history  in  the  University  of  Jena. 
His  lectures  were  immediately  popular.  While  at  Jena  he  wrote 
his  great  historical  work,  "History  of  the  Thirty  Years  War." 
He  had  now  set  a  new  style  for  historical  writing  in  Germany, 
and  had  in  some  measure  accomplished  for  German  literature 
what  Voltaire  did  for  French  literature  in  his  "Age  of  Louis  XIV." 
But  the  chief  value  of  Schiller's  vast  historical  labors  came  from 
the  knowledge  they  imparted  to  him  in  regard  to  the  great  char- 
acters and  events  of  that  stormy  period.  Had  he  not  composed 
this  history  it  is  doubtful  if  he  could  have  written  "Wallenstein." 
At  any  rate  there  is  little  likelihood  that  he  would  have  done  so. 

Notwithstanding  his  fam.e,  Schiller's  debts  were  pressing, 
and  he  began  to  suff'er  from  overwork.  He  indulged  a  fatal  habit 
of  working  all  night,  and  sleeping  only  in  the  forenoon.  At  this 
juncture  friends  came  to  his  rescue  with  financial  aid.  He  relin- 
quished his  professorship,  but  redoubled  his  efforts  on  "Wallen- 
stein," in  which  he  was  aided  by  the  constructive  criticisms  of 
Goethe.  It  was  at  this  time,  also,  that  he  edited  with  Goethe  the 
journal,  "Die  Horen."  They  published  together  their  "Xenien" 
in  1797,  and  in  this  work  they  completely  silenced  the  heavy  artil- 
lery^ of  all  their  critics.    Within  the  two  or  three  years  following, 


178  SCHILLER 

Schiller  produced  "The  Song  of  the  Bell,"  "The  Crane  of  Ibycus," 
and  several  other  famous  poems  of  rare  beauty. 

•  In  1799  Schiller  completed  the  great  trilogy  of  "Wallenstein/* 
the  best  acting  play  and  the  greatest  purely  tragic  work  ever 
written  in  the  German  language.  Goethe  said:  "The  work  is  so 
great  that  there  exists  no  equal  to  it."  It  was  certainly  the 
greatest  drama  written  in  the  eighteenth  century,  and  among 
modern  dramatic  authors  it  has  made  Schiller's  position  secure  in 
the  rank  of  Goethe  and  Shakespeare. 

In  1800  his  "Mary  Stuart"  appeared.  So  great  was  his  repu- 
tation abroad,  following  the  publication  of  this  play,  that  a  London 
theatre  sought  to  contract  with  him  for  the  first  production  of  all 
his  future  dramas.  The  "Maid  of  Orleans"  was  produced  in  1801, 
followed  by  the  "Bride  of  Messina,"  a  Greek  tragedy  in  the  man- 
ner of  Aeschylus  and  Sophocles.  In  1802  he  received  a  patent  of 
nobility  from  the  Emperor  Francis  II.,  which  he  accepted  "for 
the  sake  of  wife  and  children."  He  was  now  one  of  the  great 
world-characters.  Madame  de  Stael  paid  him  a  visit  in  1803.  He 
complained  of  her  attentions  as  "suffocating,"  and  when  she  had 
gone  he  wrote  to  Goethe  that  he  felt  as  if  he  had  just  recovered 
from  a  severe  illness. 

Schiller  was  invited  to  Berlin  in  1804,  and  was  received  with 
all  but  royal  magnificence.  His  tragedies  were  enacted  at  the 
theatres,  and  he  was  honized  by  both  the  people  and  the  court. 
This  triumphal  visit  to  Berlin  was  much  like  Voltaire's  final  return 
to  Paris.  But  Schiller  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  remain  at 
the  Prussian  court.  He  preferred  the  intellectual  capital  at  Wei- 
mar to  any  political  capital  whatsoever,  and  wisely  valued  the 
society  of  Goethe  above  that  of  courts  and  kings. 

His  last  work  was  the  drama  of  "William  Tell."  The  theme 
had  been  suggested  to  him  by  Goethe.  It  was  a  parting  blow  at 
autocracy.  His  health  continued  to  fail  because  of  his  excessive 
labors,  and  he  died  a  martyr  to  his  art,  on  May  9,  1805,  at  the 
age  of  forty-five,  at  the  height  of  his  fame  and  in  the  prime  of 
his  intellectual  powers. 

It  was  in  "William  Tell"  that  Schiller  wrote  (IV.,  1.) :    "The 


SCHILLER  179 

storm  is  master.  Man,  as  a  ball,  is  tossed  twixt  winds  and  bil- 
lows." From  earliest  childhood  Schiller  was  attracted  by  the 
grander  and  more  terrible  phenomena  of  nature.  He  loved  to 
see  the  forked  lightenings  leap  and  play,  and  hear  the  crashing 
thunders  roll,  while  the  roaring  wind  was  music  to  his  soul.  This 
characteristic  remained  with  him  through  life,  and  the  stonny 
elements  attended  him,  as  a  kindred  soul,  in  death.  He  was  buried 
shortly  after  midnight.  The  night  was  dark  and  threatening. 
Storm-clouds  filled  the  sky.  When  the  bier  was  placed  beside  the 
open  grave,  for  a  moment  all  was  calm.  The  moon  shone  brightly 
on  the  coffin.  The  body  was  lowered  to  its  last  resting-place. 
Again  the  sky  was  overcast,  the  tempest  burst,  the  winds  howled, 
and  the  storm-king  sang  a  mighty  requium  above  the  poet's  tomb. 
So  passed  the  spirit  of  the  immortal  Schiller,  the  soul  of  German 
tragedy.  His  last  conscious  act  was  to  kiss  his  faithful  wife,  to 
whom  he  had  been  supremely  devoted,  and  his  last  words  were 
"Happier — ever  happier!"     So  died  he  who  said: 

Der  Mensch  ist  frei  geschaflfen,  ist  frei 
Und  wurd'  er  in  Ketten  geboren — 

"Man  is  created  free,  and  is  free,  even  though  born  in  chains." 


III. 

LESSING. 

Gotthold  Ephraim  Lessing,  "the  father  of  German  criticism,'' 
and,  in  point  of  time,  the  first  among  German  classical  writers, 
was  born  at  Kamenz,  in  Saxony,  the  son  of  a  pastor  of  that  city, 
by  whom  he,  too,  was  intended  for  the  ministry.  At  the  age  of 
seventeen  he  began  attending  the  university  at  Leipsic,  and  was 
a  precocious  student.  He  soon  tired  of  theological  studies,  and 
took  up  the  study  of  medicine,  telling  his  father  that  he  "could 
be  a  preacher  any  day."  For  the  present,  however,  he  desired  a 
wider  range  of  study.  From  Leipsic  he  went  to  the  university 
at  Wittenberg.  At  both  universities  he  displayed  marked  apti- 
tude for  literature. 

Lessing  published  a  little  volume  of  poems  in  1748,  after  the 
manner  of  Anacreon.  The  next  year  he  proceeded  to  Berlin. 
There  he  met  Voltaire,  who  soon  became  his  enemy.  In  1755  he 
published  his  tragedy  "Miss  Sara  Simpson,"  a  drama  based  upon 
the  family  life,  and  tending  to  exalt  the  middle  and  lower  classes. 
It  was  at  once  successful.  But  it  was  not  until  four  years  later 
that  he  really  began  his  hterary  career. 

In  1759,  the  year  in  which  Schiller  was  born,  Lessing  com- 
menced publishing  his  "Literary  Letters,"  a  task  which  occupied 
a  great  part  of  his  time  for  the  next  seven  years.  The  "Literary 
Letters"  mark  the  beginning  of  the  classical  period  of  German 
literature.  He  left  Berlin  for  a  time,  to  become  secretary  to  the 
Governor  of  Silesia.  While  at  Breslau  he  published  the  drama 
"Mina  von  Barnhelm,"  one  of  the  purest  gems  of  German  litera- 
ture, and  still  regarded  as  a  masterpiece.  In  1766,  after  his  re- 
turn to  Berlin,  he  began  publishing  his  great  treatise  on  aesthetic 
criticism,  the  "Laocoon,"  only  one-third  of  which  was  ever  com- 
pleted. While  engaged  on  this  work  poverty  compelled  him  to 
sell  his  library.     He  then  went  to  Hamburg,  where  he  \\'as  em- 

180 


LESSING  181 

ployed  to  aid  in  the  establishment  of  a  national  theatre.  He  now 
began  publishing  his  "Dramatic  Notes,"  which  were  in  some 
measure  a  continuation  of  the  "Laocoon."  These  essays  are  mar- 
vels of  literary  taste  and  mental  astuteness,  and  have  won  en- 
comiums from  the  masters  of  literary  and  dramatic  criticism  in 
all  nations. 

In  1770  Lessing  was  made  librarian  at  Wolfenbuttel,  a  posi- 
tion which  he  held  until  his  death,  eleven  years  later.  Here  he 
wrote  the  play,  "Emile  Galotti,"  the  presentation  of  which  was 
forbidden  by  the  censor  because  of  its  political  tendencies.  At 
this  time,  also,  he  wrote  "Nathan  the  Wise,"  which  has  been 
characterized  as  "a  dramatic  poem  of  toleration,"  and  which  is 
still  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  beautiful  specimens  of  German 
composition.  It  is  said  that  the  piece  was  inspired  by  his  friend- 
ship for  Moses  Mendelssohn,  the  Jewish  philosopher  and  scholar, 
and  grand  father  of  the  great  musician.  Moses  Mendelssohn  and 
Lessing  were  born  in  the  same  year. 

Lessing  visited  Vienna  in  1775,  and  was  given  such  an  ova- 
tion as  was  never  before  received  by  a  German  author.  He  then 
visited  Italy,  and  found  that  his  fame  had  preceded  him  there 
also.  In  1781  he  died,  at  the  age  of  fifty-two.  The  last  three 
years  of  his  life  were  devoted  to  controversial  writings  which  pro- 
foundly affected  the  literary  and  political  thought  of  the  day. 
He  was  a  fearless  advocate  of  the  freedom  of  opinion,  and  de- 
clared it  "better  that  error  should  be  taught  than  freedom  of 
thought  stifled."  Lessing  was  almost  alone  in  his  advocacy  of 
free  speech  at  the  time,  and  he  did  for  his  generation  what  Milton 
had  done  for  England. 

It  is  impossible  to  overestimate  the  value  of  Lessing's  work 
in  literary  criticism.  Unquestionably,  he  is  Germany's  foremost 
hterary  critic.  Macaulay  said  that  sixtj  years  before  his  time 
Lessing  was  "beyond  dispute,  the  first  critic  of  Europe."  His 
critical  essays  prepared  the  way  for  Goethe  and  Schiller,  while 
his  philosophical  writings,  beyond  all  doubt,  were  of  substantial 
aid  in  preparing  the  path  for  Kant  and  Fichte.  Speaking  of  the 
"Laocoon,"  Goethe  said:     "That  long  misunderstood  phrase,  ut 


182  LESSING 

pictura  poesis,  was  set  aside.  The  distinction  between  the  speak- 
ing and  the  plastic  arts  was  clear.  All  the  results  of  this  glorious 
thought  were  revealed  to  us  as  by  a  lightning  flash." 

With  all  his  polemical  wit  and  daring,  with  all  his  remorse- 
less logic  and  his  cutting  satire,  Lessing  is  always  broad,  noble, 
tolerant,  humane.  There  was  nothing  mean,  low  or  narrow  in 
Ms  nature.  No  one  can  read  his  "Nathan  the  Wise"  without 
"being  supremely  impressed  with  a  sense  of  the  author's  goodness, 
and  the  genuineness  of  his  brave  yet  gentle  heart.  That  play, 
indeed,  is  the  sum  of  all  his  moral  and  philosophic  teaching.  When 
lie  makes  his  character  say,  in  Act  I.,  "For  God  rewards  good 
deeds  done  here  below — rewards  them  here", — he  means  just 
that,  although  he  does  not  necessarily  mean  that  the  reward  shall 
be  paid  in  gold  coin,  or  that  it  shall  be  paid  immediately  upon  per- 
formance of  the  deed.  When  he  says,  in  Act  II.,  "Know  this,  that 
every  country  can  produce  good  men,"  he  means  that,  too,  for  he 
bad  said  almost  the  same  thing  ten  years  before,  when  he  wrote, 
in  his  essay  on  "Aristotle  and  Tragedy" :  "I  am  convinced  that 
no  nation  in  the  world  has  been  specially  endowed  with  any  men- 
tal gift  superior  to  that  of  other  nations."  Such  thoughts  show 
the  magnanimous  world-spirit  of  the  man. 

Lessing's  essays  are  models  of  a  perfect  expository  style — 
clear,  simple,  logical,  vigorous,  concise  and  bold.  His  sentences 
are  a  net-work  of  close  reasoning,  compactly  woven,  and  beautiful 
as  a  tapestry.  His  vehemence  is  not  in  his  rhetoric,  but  in  his 
thought;  and  in  this  respect  his  controversial  writings  often  re- 
mind one  of  passages  in  Demosthenes.  He  is  Greek  in  his  man- 
mer,  his  thought  and  his  ideals,  and  evidently  no  one  ever  read 
to  better  purpose  the  great  Greek  authors. 


IV. 
KANT. 

That  vast  intelligence  known  to  the  world  as  Immanuel  Kant, 
"one  of  the  greatest  and  most  influential  metaphysicians  of  all 
time,"  was  born  at  Koenigsberg,  Prussia,  in  1724,  and  died  there 
in  1804.  He  was  never  married.  He  never  travelled.  His  eighty 
years  were  devoted  to  the  peaceful  pursuits  of  learning,  and  he 
never  stirred  from  the  precincts  of  the  University  of  Koenigs- 
berg, where  he  studied,  wTote  and  taught.  The  adulation  of  the 
multitude  and  the  flattery  of  the  great  were  alike  matters  of  in- 
difference to  him,  and  unlike  other  men  of  letters,  he  refused  t© 
visit  other  parts  of  the  world.  But  he  brought  the  world  to  his 
door.  Madame  de  Stael  said  that,  outside  of  Greek  histor>%  the 
w^orld  afforded  no  other  example  of  such  exclusive  and  supreme 
devotion  to  philosophical  pursuits. 

"Pie  lived  to  a  great  age,"  says  George  Eenry  Lewes,  in  his 
Biographical  History  of  Philosophy,  "and  never  once  quitted  the 
snows  of  murky  Koenigsberg.  There  he  pursued  a  calm  and 
happy  existence,  meditating,  professing  and  writing.  He  had 
mastered  all  the  sciences;  he  had  studied  languages,  and  culti- 
vated hterature.  He  lived  and  died  a  type  of  the  German  profes- 
sor: he  rose,  smoked,  drank  his  coffee,  wrote,  lectured,  took  his 
daily  walks  always  at  the  same  hour.  The  cathedral  clock,  it  was 
said,  was  not  more  punctual  in  its  movements  than  Immanuel 
Kant."  Herder,  who  attended  some  of  his  lectures,  said  that  they 
were  distinguished  for  wit  and  humor  as  well  as  moral  purity  and 
profound  thought. 

At  various  times  Kant  lectured  on  logic,  metaphysics,  physics^ 
politics,  mathematics,  anthropology,  theology,  pedagogy,  and  min- 
eralogy. He  was  first  offered  the  chair  of  poetry  in  the  univer- 
sity, but  declined  it  because  he  did  not  regard  himself  as  particn- 
lariy  qualified  for  the  work.     In  1770  he  was  appointed  to  the 

183 


184  KANT 

chair  of  logic  and  metaphysics,  which  he  retained  during  the  re- 
maining thirty-four  years  of  his  life.  He  wrote  works  on  astro- 
nomy, physical  geography,  neural  pathology,  psychology,  aes- 
thetics, ethnography,  anthropology^  history,  criticism,  meteor- 
ology, politics,  logic,  pedagogy  and  metaphysics.  While  his  great- 
est achievements  were  in  philosophy,  his  service  to  the  physical 
sciences  was  hardly  less  valuable.  It  was  Kant  who  first  an- 
nounced the  theory  that  the  solar  system  was  developed  from  a 
primitive  gaseous  material  with  rotary  motion,  thus  anticipating 
by  thirty-five  years  the  nebular  hypothesis  of  Laplace. 

But  Kant,  like  Plato,  was  greatest  in  his  metaphysics.  In 
this  field  he  was  supreme  in  his  generation.  The  chief  of  his 
philosophical  works  is  his  "Critique  of  Pure  Reason,"  the  most 
monumental  work  in  metaphysics  since  Locke  promulgated  his 
Essay  on  the  Human  Understanding.  "Our  suggestion,"  he  says, 
"is  similiar  to  that  of  Copernicus  in  astronomy,  who  finding  it 
impossible  to  explain  the  movements  of  heavenly  bodies  on  the 
supposition  that  they  turned  round  the  spectator,  tried  whether 
he  might  not  succeed  better  by  supposing  the  spectator  to  revolve 
and  the  stars  to  remain  at  rest."  This  suggests  Einstein's  recent 
theory  of  relativity.  Kant  wrote  this  great  work  in  a  few 
months,  but  he  had  previously  meditated  upon  it  for  a  period  of 
twelve  years  and  did  not  begin  the  work  of  composition  until  his 
ideas  were  thoroughly  fixed. 

It  is  evident  that  Kant  was  profoundly  influenced  by  Hume, 
and  that  he  sought  by  his  massive  structure  to  erect  a  bulwark 
against  the  skepticism  of  the  English  philosopher.  Kant  was  not 
a  skeptic;  at  least,  he  was  not  intentionally  and  avowedly  so. 
But,  for  all  that,  the  eff'ect  of  his  philosophy  was  to  augment 
rather  than  to  destroy  skepticism,  \^^lile  he  affirms  the  certitude 
of  knowledge,  he  affirms,  also,  that  knowledge  is  only  relative. 
It  is  not  strange,  therefore,  that  philosophers  claim  to  find  in  his 
system  a  scientific  basis  for  skepticism.  But  Kant  nobly  vindi- 
cated the  idea  of  duty.  He  founded  upon  the  veracity  of  con- 
sciousness a  system  of  morals,  the  belief  in  a  future  state  and  in 
the  existence  of  God. 


KANT  185 

He  was,  as  Robert  Adamson  said,  in  his  essay  on  Kant,  "The 
greatest  philosopher  of  the  eighteenth  century."  There  will  be 
no  dissent  from  the  statement  of  Thomas  Carlyle  that  "His  criti- 
cal philosophy  has  been  regarded  as  distinctly  the  greatest  intel- 
lectual achievement  of  the  century."  Schlegel  said:  "In  respect 
of  its  probable  influence  on  the  moral  culture  of  Europe,  it  stands 
on  a  line  with  the  Reformation."  But  his  morals,  it  is  beUeved, 
are  better  than  his  philosophy,  and  it  is  to  be  regretted  if  he  has 
given  skepticism  a  weapon  with  which  to  thwart  so  much  that  is 
beautiful,  good  and  true. 

Personally,  Kant  was  a  man  of  great  kindliness  and  austere 
morality.  He  was  also  a  lover  and  advocate  of  political  freedom. 
He  expressed  sympathy  for  the  American  Colonists  in  their  fight 
for  independence,  and  he  also  sympathized  with  the  first  Revolu- 
tionists of  France.  He  was  generous,  honorable  and  true.  "Be- 
nevolence," said  he,  "is  a  duty.  He  who  frequently  practices  it, 
and  sees  his  benevolent  intentions  realized,  at  length  comes  to 
love  him  to  whom  he  has  done  good.  When,  therefore,  it  is  said, 
'Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself,'  it  is  not  meant  that 
thou  shalt  love  him  first,  and  do  good  to  him  in  consequence  of 
that  love,  but,  thou  shalt  do  good  to  thy  neighbor,  and  this  thy 
beneficence  will  engender  in  thee  that  lovp  to  mankind  which  is 
the  fullness  and  consummation  of  the  inclination  to  do  good." 

In  the  same  spirit,  he  adds:  "Whether  mankind  be  found 
worthy  of  love  or  not,  a  practical  principle  of  good  will  is  a  duty 
mutually  owed  by  all  men  to  one  another." 

"Act  always,"  he  advises,  "so  that  the  immediate  motive  of 
thy  will  may  become  a  universal  rule  for  all  intelligent  beings." 

Again  he  says:  "There  can  be  no  more  fundamental  and 
more  certain  mode  of  pleasing  the  invisible  power  which  governs 
the  world,  at  least  in  order  to  be  happy  in  another  world,  than 
virtuous  conduct." 

These  are  truths  that  matter;  thoughts  that  count;  grains 
of  pure  gold,  without  which  all  philosophy  is  but  dross.  They  are 
the  bed-rock  of  the  life  spiritual,  the  corner-stone  in  the  adaman- 
tine temple  of  the  soul.    They  need  no  Critique  of  Reason  to  in- 


186 


KANT 


fuse  into  them  the  breath  of  life,  for  they  are  of  the  very  essence 
of  the  hfe  that  never  dies.  The  cold  embellishments  of  syllogistic 
logic  can  neither  help  nor  hinder  here,  where  the  grandest  ratio- 
cinations of  the  human  intellect  have  reached  their  highest  point. 

In  De  Quincey's  "Last  Days  of  Immanuel  Kant,"  we  find  the 
great  philosopher  facing  the  end,  with  the  serenity  of  an  un- 
troubled mind.  "I  do  not  fear  death,"  said  he,  ''for  I  know  how 
to  die.  I  assure  you  that  if  I  knew  this  night  was  to  be  my  last, 
I  would  raise  my  hands  and  say,  'God  be  praised !'  The  case  would 
be  far  different  if  I  had  ever  caused  the  misery  of  any  of  His 
creatures." 

"Kant  is  the  great  renovator  of  philosophy,"  says  Albert 
Schwegler,  in  his  "History  of  Philosophy ;"  "he  reduced  once  more 
to  unity  and  totality  the  one-sided  efforts  of  those  who  had  pre- 
ceded him.  He  stands  in  some  special  relation,  either  antagonistic 
or  harmonious,  to  all  others — to  Locke  no  less  than  to  Hume,  to 
the  Scottish  philosophers  no  less  than  to  the  earlier  English  and 
French  morahsts,  to  the  philosophy  of  Liebnitz  and  Wolff,  as  well 
as  to  the  materialism  of  the  French  and  the  utilitarianism  of  the 
German  clearing  up  period." 


V. 
RICHTER. 

Jean  Paul  Richter  was  a  sentimental  prose  writer,  humorist 
and  novelist,  whose  works  are  edited  in  thirty-four  volumes.  He 
does  not  belong  to  the  German  classical  school,  and  was  rather 
frowned  upon  by  Goethe  and  Schiller,  although  Goethe  praised 
his  pedagogical  work,  "Levana,"  for  "the  boldest  virtues,  without 
the  least  excess." 

Richter  was  born  at  the  village  of  Wunseidel,  in  the  Fran- 
conian  mountains,  in  1763.  His  early  life  was  a  bitter  struggle 
with  poverty  in  its  hardest  forms.  In  1781  he  went  to  Leipsic  to 
study  theology.  But  within  three  years  he  was  obliged  to  flee 
to  avoid  the  importunities  of  his  creditors.  Meanwhile  he  had 
published  the  satire,  "Greenland  Lawsuits,"  which  was  little  ap- 
preciated on  account  of  its  extravagant  eccentricity  of  style.  In 
1789  he  wrote  "The  Devil's  Papers,"  but  could  not  find  a  pub- 
lisher. His  novels,  "The  Invisible  Lodge"  and  "Hesperus"  were 
published,  respectively,  in  1793  and  1794.  In  1796  he  visited 
Weimar,  and  was  hospitably  received  by  Herder,  the  constant 
friend  of  every  aspiring  genius,  whom  he  warmly  eulogized  in  his 
"Aesthetics,"  published  in  1804.  Although  he  was  not  warmly 
beamed  upon  by  its  greater  luminaries,  Richter's  visit  to  Weimar 
was  rather  successful,  and  from  that  time  forth  his  fortunes  took 
a  turn  for  the  better.  After  a  few  more  years  of  wandering,  he 
settled  permanently  at  Bayreuth,  and  remained  there  the  remain- 
ing twenty-one  years  of  his  life,  dying  in  1825. 

Carlyle  first  introduced  Richter  to  English  readers,  by  men- 
tion in  his  essays,  and  by  his  translation  of  "Quintus  Fixlein,"  in 
1827.  DeQuincey  published  a  "Life  of  Richter"  in  1845,  and  se- 
lections from  his  writings  were  published  by  Lady  Chatterton  in 
1859.  Richter  is,  indeed,  best  read  in  excerpts,  rather  than  in  any 
of  his  completed  works.    Carlyle  said  of  him :    "There  is  probably 

187 


188  RICHTER 

not  in  any  modern  language  so  intricate  a  writer;  abounding, 
without  measure,  in  obscure  allusions,  in  the  most  twisted  phrase- 
ology; perplexed  into  endless  entanglements  and  dislocations, 
parenthesis  within  parenthesis;  not  forgetting  elisions,  sudden 
whirls,  quips,  conceits,  and  all  manner  of  inexplicable  crochets; 
the  whole  moving  on  in  the  gayest  manner."  But  he  had  a  deep 
and  tender  sympathy,  a  rich  imagination  and  a  certain  delicacy 
of  touch,  which,  with  his  other  human  qualities,  have  made  his 
place  secure  within  the  circle  of  his  admirers,  by  whom  he  is 
called  "Der  Einzige"— "The  Unique." 

Richter,  we  repeat,  is  best  read  in  fine  passages.  Few  of  his 
works  hold  the  interest,  but  many  of  them  contain  paragraphs  of 
the  rarest  beauty,  embellished  to  the  highest  degree  of  ornate- 
ness,  sublimely  poetic,  and  deeply  philosophic,  or  abounding  in 
the  practical  wisdom  of  everyday  life.  Thus:  "A  man  takes 
contradiction  and  advice  much  more  easily  than  people  think, 
only  he  will  not  bear  it  when  violently  given,  even  though  it  be 
well  founded.  Hearts  are  flowers ;  they  remain  open  to  the  softly 
falling  dev/,  but  shut  up  in  the  violent  down-pour  of  rain."  Was 
there  ever  a  more  beautiful  and  effective  simile  than  that  pre- 
sented in  the  last  sentence  ?  And  here  is  another :  "A  Christian 
man  can  look  down  like  an  eternal  sun  upon  the  autumn  of  his 
existence;  the  more  sand  has  passed  through  the  hour-glass  of 
life,  the  more  clearly  can  he  see  through  the  empty  glass.  Earth, 
too,  is  to  him  a  beloved  spot,  a  beautiful  meadow,  the  scene  of  his 
childhood's  sports,  and  he  hangs  on  this  mother  of  our  first  life 
with  the  love  with  which  a  bride,  full  of  childhood's  recollections, 
clings  to  a  beloved  mother's  breast,  the  evening  before  the  day 
on  which  she  resigns  herself  to  the  bridegroom's  heart." 

Now  let  us  read  what  he  says  of  authorship :  ''Never  write 
on  a  subject  without  first  having  read  yourself  full  on  it;  and 
never  read  on  a  subject  till  you  have  thought  yourself  hungry  on 
it."  Horace  said  nothing  better  than  that,  in  the  "Ars  Poetica." 
And  nothing,  we  believe,  in  either  the  Christian  or  the  Pagan 
moralists,  is  better  put  than  this: 

"Nothing  is  more  moving  to  man  than  the  spectacle  of  recon- 
ciliation; our  weaknesses  are  thus  indemnified,  and  are  not  too 


RICHTER  189 

costly,  being  the  price  we  pay  for  the  hour  of  forgiveness;  and 
the  archangel,  who  has  never  felt  anger,  has  reason  to  envy  the 
man  who  subdues  it.  When  thou  forgivest,  the  man  who  has 
pierced  thy  heart  stands  to  thee  in  the  relation  of  the  sea-worm 
that  perforates  the  shell  of  the  mussell,  which  straightway  closes 
the  wound  with  a  pearl." 

Behold,  now  his  pretty  picture  of  Hope :  "Hope  is  the  ruddy 
morning  of  joy,  recollection  is  its  golden  tinge;  but  the  latter  is 
wont  to  sink  amid  the  dews  and  dusky  shades  of  twilight ;  and  the 
bright  blue  day  which  the  former  promises,  breaks,  indeed,  but  in 
another  world,  and  with  another  sun." 

The  following  stern  call  to  the  duty  of  the  hour,  reads  like 
one  of  the  oracular  utterances  of  Carlyle:  "Be  every  minute, 
man,  a  full  life  to  thee !  Despise  anxiety  and  wishing,  the  future 
and  the  past !  If  the  second-pointer  can  be  no  road-pointer,  with 
an  Eden  for  thy  goal,  the  month-pointer  will  be  still  less  so, — for 
thou  livest  not  from  month  to  month,  but  from  second  to  second ! 
Enjoy  thy  existence  more  than  thy  manner  of  existence,  and  let 
the  dearest  object  of  thy  consciousness  be  this  consciousness 
itself!  Make  not  the  present  a  means  of  thy  future;  for  this 
future  is  nothing  but  a  coming  present;  and  the  present  which 
thou  despisest  was  once  a  future  which  thou  desiredst." 

Richter,  with  all  his  shimmering  metaphor  and  pictured  fan- 
tasies, abounds  in  deep  and  sober  thoughts,  thoughts  that  rise 
and  set  like  distant  suns,  moving  in  the  orbit  of  eternity.  Such  a 
thought  as  this  would  be  not  unworthy  of  Plato:  "A  man  can 
even  here  be  with  God,  so  long  as  he  bears  God  within  him.  We 
should  be  able  to  see  without  sadness  our  most  holy  wishes  fade 
like  flowers,  because  the  sun  above  us  still  forever  beams,  eter- 
nally makes  new,  and  cares  for  all ;  and  a  man  must  not  so  much 
prepare  for  eternity,  as  plant  eternity  in  himself :  eternity,  serene, 
pure,  full  of  depth,  full  of  light,  and  of  all  else." 


VI. 
KLOPSTOCK. 

Frieclerich  Gottlieb  Klopstock  (born  1724,  died  1803)  has 
been  called  "the  German  Milton."  He  studied  theology  at  Jena 
and  Leipsic.  After  leaving  the  university  he  followed,  for  some 
years,  the  occupation  of  private  tutor. 

The  first  three  cantos  of  his  "Messiah,"  a  Christian  epic,  were 
published  in  1748,  at  Langensalza.  The  poem  was  completed  in 
1752,  at  Copenhagen,  where  its  author  was  a  guest  of  the  King 
of  Denmark.  The  publication  of  the  first  three  cantos  had  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  Bodmer,  the  Swiss  critic,  then  an  eminent 
authority  on  German  letters,  who  had  noted  the  Miltonic  charac- 
ter of  Klopstock's  work. 

Klopstock's  dramatic  productions  are  of  an  inferior  order; 
overwrought,  overdrawn,  and  theatrically  impossible.  His  fame 
rests  almost  solely  upon  his  "Messiah,"  a  poem  which,  although 
hardly  equal  as  a  whole  to  the  "Paradise  Lost,"  abounds  in  fervid 
religious  sentiment  and  discloses  a  rich  vocabulary,  with  much 
beautiful  poetic  imagery.  His  representation  of  the  characters 
of  the  Disciples,  from  this  poem,  has  been  much  admired  for  its 
delicate  lacery  of  language  and  its  sweetly  pious  thought.  We 
quote  from  Roscoe's  translation : 

"Now  the  last  sleep. 
Last  of  his  earthly  slumbers,  gently  sealed 
The  Saviour's  eyes.    In  heavenly  peace  it  came, 
Descending  from  the  sanctuary  of  God 
In  the  still  softness  of  the  evening  air. 
The  Savior  slept,  and  Sella  meanwhile 
To  the  assembly  with  these  words  approached. 
Say  who  are  they,  whose  eyes,  bedimmed  with  grief, 

190 


KLOPSTOCK  191 

Silent  ascend  the  mountain?    Sorrow's  hand 
Their  face  has  touched,  yet  harmed  not,— ever  such 
The  grief  of  nobler  souls ;  haply  some  friend 
Wrapt  in  the  silent  arms  of  death  they  mourn, 
Their  like  in  virtue.    Then  the  Seraph  thus : 
Those  are  the  holy  twelve,  0  Sella, 
Chosen  by  the  Mediator." 

Sella,  then,  as  the  Disciples  come  into  view,  inquires  concern- 
ing each  of  the  "holy  twelve,"  and  is  answered  in  turn  by  the 
guardian  angels  of  the  various  Disciples.  The  picture  thus  pre- 
sented, as  the  saints  move  in  solemn  review,  like  a  heavenly  con- 
stellation, is  sublimely  impressive,  and  is  as  beautiful  and  striking 
as  the  divine  groups  of  Michelangelo  in  the  Sistine  Chapel.  Noth- 
ing in  Milton  can  be  said  to  surpass  it.  The  review  closes  with 
St.  John,  of  whom  it  is  said — 

"*  *  *  no  fairer  spirit 
On  mortal  man  by  the  Creator's  breath 
Was  e'er  bestowed,  than  the  unspotted  soul 
Of  this  disciple." 

And  then  the  scene  is  finished  with  a  group  of  angels  hovering 
aloft — 

*'*  *  *  and  with  silent  tenderness 
The  seraphs  o'er  the  loved  disciple  stood. 
So  stand  three  brothers  o'er  a  sister  fair, 
In  fondness  gazing:  on  soft  bedded  flowers 
She  sleeps  in  angel  beauty,  ignorant 
Of  her  blest  father's  hour  of  death;  while  they, 
Won  by  her  silent  loveliness,  delay 
To  break  her  golden  slumbers."  \ 

Klopstock's  "Messiah"  was  one  of  the  books  which  exerted 
a  most  powerful  influence  upon    the    youthful    imagination  of 


192  KLOPSTOCK 

Goethe.  In  this  connection  a  delightful  anecdote  is  related  by 
Prof.  Boyesen  in  his  biography  of  Goethe.  Goethe's  father  was 
a  staid,  stern  and  practical  German  lawyer,  who  could  not  endure 
the  fervid  rhapsodies  of  Klopstock,  and  he  would  not  permit  a 
copy  of  the  "Messiah"  to  remain  in  his  home.  But  his  wife,  who 
was  of  a  deeply  sentimental  nature,  secretly  procured  a  copy. 
Young  Goethe  and  his  little  sister  Cornelia,  sharing  their  mother's 
ardent  temperament,  devoured  the  book  most  ravenously.  They 
memorized  practically  the  whole  of  it,  and  were  accustomed  to 
amuse  themselves  by  impersonating  Satan  and  his  fiends.  "Stand- 
ing on  chairs  in  the  nursery,"  says  Prof.  Boyesen,  "they  would 
hurl  the  most  delightfully  polysyllabic  maledictions  at  each  other. 
One  Saturday  evening,  while  their  father  was  receiving  a  profes- 
sional visit  from  his  barber,  the  two  children  (who  were  always 
hushed  and  subdued  in  his  presence)  were  seated  behind  the 
stove,  whispering  sonorous  curses  in  each  other's  ears.  Cornelia, 
however,"  carried  away  by  the  impetus  of  her  inspiration,  forgot 
her  father's  presence,  and  spoke  with  increasing  violence : 
"Help  me !  help !  I  implore  thee,  and  if  thou  demandst  it 
Worship  thee,  outcast !  Thou  monster  and  black  malefactor ! 
Help  me !  I  suffer  the  torments  of  death,  the  eternal  avenger !"  etc. 
The  poor  barber,  frightened  out  of  his  wits  by  such  extraordinary 
language,  poured  the  soap-lather  over  the  counsellor's  bosom. 
The  culprits  were  summoned  for  trial,  and  Klopstock  was  placed 
on  the  index  expurgatorius." 

But  such  a  book  is  not  to  be  wholly  cast  away.  If  it  possessed 
no  other  merit,  it  would  deserve  to  be  embalmed  in  the  affections 
of  posterity  for  having.helped  to  fire  the  imagination  and  fashion 
the  giant  soul  of  Goethe.  It  was  Klopstock  who  first  showed  forth 
the  marvelous  richness  and  fluency  of  the  German  language.  He 
was,  in  a  manner,  the  John-the-Baptist  of  the  Golden  Age  of  Ger- 
man literature.  His  "Messiah"  was  published  before  Schiller  was 
born,  and  when  Goethe  was  an  infant  of  two  years,  and  he  was 
spared  to  be  a  witness  of  their  triumphs,  and  of  those  literary 
glories  which  at  first  he  saw  "as  through  a  glass,  darkly,"  but 
with  which  he  was  afterward  brought  face  to  face. 

This  more  practical  and  material  age  has  all  but  placed  the 


KLOPSTOCK  193 

''Messiah"  where  Goethe's  father  placed  it — on  the  index  of 
things  forbidden,  or  at  least  neglected.  Nor  is  Klopstock's  the 
only  Messiah  so  cast  out.  But,  in  the  endless  process  of  the  suns, 
younger  Goethes  will  arise  to  track  the  aspirations  of  the  heart 
or  point  the  summits  of  the  soul,  and  the  Vision  will  not  be  lost 
to  man. 


VII. 
WIELAND. 

One  of  the  most  illustrious  authors  of  the  German  classical 
period  was  Christopher  Martin  Wieland,  whose  works  are  edited 
by  Gruber  in  fifty-three  volumes.  Wieland  was  born  at  Oberholz- 
heim,  Wurtemberg,  in  1733.  Like  Lessing,  he  was  the  son  of  a 
preacher.  Born  with  an  innate  aptitude  for  versification,  some 
of  his  earliest  productions  attracted  the  attention  of  Bodmer,  the 
Swiss  critic,  by  whom  he  was  invited  to  Zurich.  There  he  re- 
mained for  eight  years,  earning  his  living  as  a  private  tutor. 

In  1769  Wieland  was  appointed  professor  of  literature  and 
philosophy  at  the  University  of  Erfurt.  Three  years  later  he  was 
summoned  to  Weimar,  to  becom.e  the  tutor  to  the  two  sons  of 
Princess  Amalie  of  Saxe-Weimar,  Prince  Karl  August  and  his 
brother.  Endowed  by  nature  with  a  talent  for  versification,  he 
had,  from  the  days  of  his  youth,  devoted  all  his  spare  moments 
to  literature.  In  1764,  at  the  age  of  thirty-one,  he  had  published 
his  satire  on  idealism,  "Don  Silvio  von  Rosalva,"  a  prose  work, 
followed  by  his  "Comic  Tales,"  in  1766.  In  1767  his  "Agatha" 
appeared,  presenting  some  studies  in  Fielding  and  other  English 
prose  writers.  His  poetic  tale,  "Musarion,"  appeared  in  1768. 
Then  came  his  "Nadine,"  also  in  verse,  in  1769.  In  1772,  the  year 
in  which  he  proceeded  to  Weimar,  he  published  his  "Der  goldene 
Spiegel,"  wherein  he  attempts  to  depict  the  ideal  social  state. 

Wieland  was  thirty-nine  years  of  age  when  he  reached  Wei- 
mar, in  whose  constellation  of  immortals  he  was  to  become  an 
unfading  star.  He  soon  abandoned  all  other  pursuits,  and  gave 
the  remainder  of  his  life  wholly  to  the  tasks  of  literature.  He 
now  established  "The  Germany  Mercury,"  a  monthly  journal  of 
literature,  which  he  continued  to  edit  for  thirty-seven  years. 
This  publication  proved  more  profitable,  from  the  financial  view- 
point, than  the  journals  edited  by  Goethe,  Schiller,  and  other 

194 


WIELAND  195 

great  Germans  of  the  period.  The  whole  of  his  journahstic  work 
is  pervaded  by  a  sort  of  mild  Epicurean  philosophy,  somewhat 
Addisonian  in  style,  and  tending  to  diffuse  a  gentle  and  kindly 
glow  of  cultural  elegance  over  the  life  and  letters  of  the  time. 

The  pohtical  genius  of  Wieland,  hke  that  of  other  intellectual 
giants  of  Weimar,  was  cosmopolitan  in  character.  In  furtherance 
of  these  views  he  pubhshed  his  satirical  novel,  "Die  Abdereiten," 
in  1774.  His  romantic  epic,  "Oberon,"  pubhshed  in  1780,  is  now 
regarded  as  the  best  of  his  productions.  Before  going  to  Weimar, 
Wieland  had  translated  twenty-two  of  Shakespeare's  plays.  In 
the  latter  part  of  his  life  he  did  much  toward  the  revival  of  the 
Greek  and  Roman  classics.  He  translated  the  Satires  and  Epistles 
of  Horace,  the  Letters  of  Cicero,  and  some  of  the  works  of  Euri- 
pides, Xenophon  and  Aristophanes.  His  literary  style  was  urbane, 
elegant,  polished,  and  distinguished  rather  more  for  fluency  than 
force.  He  was  not,  like  Lessing,  a  precisian.  He  was  more 
rhetorical  than  Lessing,  but  less  ornate  than  Richter.  He  wTote 
to  please,  rather  than  to  convince,  and  in  pleasing  he  was  able  to 
persuade.  "If  Lessing  gave  precision  to  modern  German  prose," 
says  one,  "Wieland  gave  it  elegance  and  fluency.  His  work,  at 
once  graceful  and  fanciful,  is  pervaded  by  a  quaint  humor  and 
delicate  irony  that  give  it  a  lasting  charm."  Although  his  trans- 
lation is  inferior  to  the  later  one  of  Schlegel,  it  was  Wieland  who 
first  introduced  Shakespeare  to  the  German  mind.  A  characteris- 
tic specimen  of  Wieland's  prose  style  is  the  following  from  his 
essay  on  "Philosophy  as  the  Art  of  Life:" 

"By  far  the  greater  part  of  the  children  of  men  never  dreamed 
that  there  was  such  an  art.  People  lived  without  knowing  how 
they  did  it,  very  much  as  Mons.  Jourdain,  in  Moliere's  'Citizen 
Gentleman,'  had  talked  prose  all  his  life,  or  as  we  all  draw  breath, 
digest,  perform  various  motions,  grow  and  thrive,  without  one 
in  a  thousand  knov/ing  or  desiring  to  know  by  what  mechanical 
laws  or  by  what  combination  of  causes  all  these  things  are  done. 
And  in  this  thick  fog  of  ignorance  innumerable  nations  in  Asia, 
Africa,  America,  and  the  islands  of  the  South  Sea,  white  and 
olive,  yellows-black  and  pitch-black,  bearded  and  unbearded,  cir- 
cumcised and   uncircumcised,   tattoed   and   untattoed,   with   and 


196  WIELAND 

without  rings  through  the  nose,  from  the  giants  in  Patagonia  to 
the  dwarf  on  Hudson's  Bay,  etc.,  etc.,  Hve  to  this  hour.  And  not 
only  so,  but  even  of  the  greatest  portion  of  the  inhabitants  of  our 
enhghtened  Europe,  it  may  be  maintained  with  truth,  that  they 
know  as  Httle  about  the  said  art  of  Hfe  and  that  they  care  as 
little  about  it  as  the  careless  people  of  Otaheite  or  the  half -frozen 
inhabitants  of  Terra  del  Fuego,  who  are  scarcely  more  than  sea- 
calves." 

Here  we  have  a  style  of  writing  which  will  be  at  once  recog- 
nized by  students  of  English  literature  as  the  style  made  famous 
by  Mr.  Addison;  little  or  nothing  of  the  sublime,  devoid  of  all 
passionate  vehemence,  and  not  distinctly  sparkling;  but  in  the 
highest  degree  entertaining,  and  productive  of  the  gentler  and 
more  placid  emotions,  like  those  produced  by  the  contemplation 
of  beautiful  objects.  We  find  examples  of  the  same  style  in  Fene- 
lon's  *Telemachus,"  and  it  abounds  amid  the  beauties  and  graces 
of  Virgil,  Cicero  and  Horace. 

Such  is  Wieland.  With  his  discursive  pleasantries,  his  ironic 
dignity,  his  Epicurean,  suave  and  soothing  self-sufficiency,  his 
flashes  of  scholarship  which  remind  us  occasionally  of  Montaigne, 
his  mild  and  amiable  preachments,  he  led  his  generation  a  long 
stride  on  the  way  to  a  brighter  view  of  life,  and  passed  away  in 
1813,  after  a  career  devoted  to  the  advancement  of  learning,  the 
upbuilding  of  literary  art  and  the  glory  of  German  letters. 


VTII. 
HERDER. 

"Herder .  paid  us  a  visit,  and  together  with  his  great  learn- 
ing, he  brought  with  him  many  other  aids,  and  the  later  pubKca- 
tions  besides.  Among  these  he  announced  to  us  the  'Vicar  of 
Wakefield,'  an  excellent  work,  with  the  German  translation  of 
which  he  wished  to  make  us  acquainted  by  reading  it  aloud  to 
us  himself."  So  says  Goethe,  writing  of  his  student  hfe  at  Stras- 
burg.  It  is  a  fitting  introduction  to  the  life  and  character  of 
Johann  Gottfried  von  Herder,  the  lover  of  good  literature,  the 
most  pronounced  bibliophile  of  the  German  classical  age,  and  the 
personal  friend  of  Goethe,  Schiller,  Lessing,  Richter  and  Kant. 

Herder  was  born  at  Mohrungen,  in  East  Prussia,  in  1744.  He 
rose  to  greatness  over  obstacles  which  few  men  have  been  able  to 
surmount.  He  was  the  son  of  a  poor  schoolmaster,  and  his  early 
life  was  a  hand-to-hand  struggle  with  poverty ;  a  contest  in  which 
he  was  handicapped  by  frail  nerves  and  a  weak  physique.  He 
studied  at  Koenigsburg  under  Kant,  and  would  have  taken  the 
course  in  medicine,  but  his  health  would  not  permit.  He  was 
enabled  to  remain  at  the  university  only  by  accepting  the  charity 
of  those  who  perceived  his  merit  and  generously  aided  him  in  his 
struggles.  He  finished  in  theology,  and  then  began  to  earn  a 
meager  living  by  teaching.  In  1764  he  was  called  to  the  Cathedral 
School  at  Riga.  Health  and  sight  failed  him,  and  he  went  to 
recuperate  in  France,  returning  to  Germany  in  1769.  He  visited 
Strasburg  for  optical  treatment,  and  here  he  met  Goethe,  then  a 
student,  and  five  years  his  junior.  The  two  soon  became  friends, 
and  it  was  through  Goethe's  influence  that  Herder  was  invited, 
in  1775,  to  assume  the  post  of  Court  Preacher  to  the  Duke  of 
Weimar;  and  thenceforth,  for  the  remainder  of  his  life,  he  was 
a  conspicuous  member  of  that  distinguished  group  of  poets  and 
philosophers  who  inhabited  the  German  Athens.     Two  years  be- 

197 


198  HERDER 

fore  his  death  he  received  a  patent  of  nobility  from  the  Elector 
of  Bavaria.  He  died  in  1803,  at  the  age  of  fifty-nine,  generally 
beloved  and  admired,  and  his  literary  comrades  at  Weimar  erected 
to  his  memory  a  monument  bearing  the  inscription,  "Light,  Love, 
Life." 

These  three  words  epitomize  the  ideals  for  which  he  lived  and 
died.  His  works  have  been  published  in  sixty  volumes,  of  which 
the  best  known  are  his  "Poetry  of  the  Races,"  "The  Spirit  of  He- 
brew Poetry,"  "Ideas  on  the  Philosophy  of  the  Human  Race,"  and 
a  translation  of  "The  Cid."  In  his  "Poetry  of  the  Races"  he  has 
taken  the  popular  songs  and  ballads  of  nearly  all  the  nations  of 
Europe  and  rendered  them  into  classical  German  with  peculiar 
grace,  fidelity  and  charm. 

Herder  is  not  at  his  best  in  his  original  poetic  comipositions. 
But  in  translating  and  interpreting  the  thoughts  of  others  he  had 
few  equals  and  no  superiors.  In  all  his  work  in  criticism,  philoso- 
phy, philology  and  theology,  he  taught  the  unity  of  humankind 
and  stressed  the  brotherhood  of  man.  No  man  possessed  a  greater 
influence  upon  the  minds  of  those  with  whom  he  came  in  contact, 
and  his  great  literary  associates  were,  in  a  manner,  his  pupils. 
His  literary  style,  as  well  as  his  breadth  of  view,  may  be  seen 
in  the  following,  from  his  essay  entitled  "Tithon  and  Aurora:" 

"The  timid  nature  of  man,  always  compassed  about  with 
hope  and  fear,  often  prophesies  distant  evils  as  near,  and  calls 
that  death  which  is  only  a  wholesome  slumber,  a  necessary, 
health-bringing  relaxation.  And  so  it  generally  deceives  itself 
in  its  predictions  concerning  lands  and  kingdoms.  Powers  lie  dor- 
mant which  we  do  not  perceive.  Faculties  and  circumstances  are 
developing  themselves,  on  which  we  could  not  calculate.  But 
even  when  our  judgment  is  true,  it  usually  leans  too  much  on  one 
side.  'If  this  is  to  live,'  we  say,  'that  must  die.'  We  do  not  con- 
sider whether  it  may  be  possible  that  both  may  live  and  act 
favorably  on  each  other.  The  good  Bishop  Berkley,  who  was  no 
poet,  was  inspired  by  his  beneficent  zeal  for  America  to  write  the 
following : 


HERDER  199 

'Westward  the  star  of  empire  takes  its  way; 

The  four  first  acts  already  past, 
The  fifth  shall  close  the  drama  with  the  day, 

Time's  noblest  offspring  is  the  last.' 

So  prophesied  the  good-natured  bishop,  and  if  his  spirit  could  now 
glance  at  yonder  up-striving  America,  he  would  perhaps  discover, 
with  the  same  glance,  that,  in  the  arms  of  the  old  Tithon,  Europe, 
also,  a  new  Aurora  was  slumbering.  Not  four,  scarcely  three 
acts  in  the  great  drama  of  this  still  youthful  quarter  of  the  globe, 
are  past;  and  who  shall  say  how  many  times  yet  the  old  Tithon 
of  the  human  race  may  and  will  renew  his  youth  upon  our  earth !" 

A  heartening  and  a  comforting  thought  is  this,  written  more 
than  a  century  ago,  for  the  needs  of  Europe  in  the  day  of  her 
trial!  Herder  saw  in  death  but  the  perpetual  renewing  of  life; 
and  he  saw  in  life  a  growth  which,  though  changing  its  forms, 
never  ceases ;  a  drama  which  changes  scenes,  but  never  ends. 

Dr.  Matthew  Arnold,  the  greatest  English  critic  since  Macau- 
lay,  in  his  beautiful  essay  on  ''Sweetness  and  Light,"  had  this  to 
say  of  Herder  and  Lessing:  "Generations  will  pass,  and  literary 
monuments  will  accumulate  and  works  far  more  perfect  than  the 
works  of  Lessing  and  Herder  will  be  produced  in  Germany;  and 
yet  the  names  of  these  two  men  will  fill  a  German  with  a  rever- 
ence and  enthusiasm  such  as  the  names  of  the  most  gifted  mas- 
ters will  hardly  awaken.  And  why?  Because  they  humanized 
knowledge;  because  they  broadened  the  basis  of  life  and  intelli- 
gence; because  they  worked  powerfully  to  diffuse  sweetness  and 
light,  to  make  reason  and  the  will  of  God  prevail." 


IX. 
HEINE. 

After  Goethe,  Heinrich  Heine  was,  in  the  opinion  of  many 
competent  judges,  the  most  gifted  lyrical  artist  of  Germany. 
Born  at  Dusseldorf,  in  1799,  of  Hebrew  parents,  young  Heine 
was  destined  for  commercial  pursuits,  but  early  in  Hf e  he  revolted 
and  gave'  his  heart  to  literature.  He  was  graduated  in  the  law, 
but  made  no  effort  to  follow  his  profession. 

Heine's  first  poems  were  published  in  1822.  Two  years  later 
he  published  another  volume  of  verse,  entitled  "Book  of  Songs," 
which  was  rendered  into  Enghsh  by  Sir  Walter  Scott.  In  1844 
appeared  "Neue  Gedichte,"  containing  some  of  his  finest  lyrics. 
Four  books  of  his  "Reisebilder,"  or  'Travel-Pictures,"  appeared 
from  1826  to  1831,  and  gave  to  Heine,  at  once,  his  greatest  fame 
and  infamy.  These  sketches  were  pronounced  "the  most  brilliant, 
the  wittiest,  the  most  entertaining,  the  most  immoral,  the  coarsest, 
the  most  dangerous,  the  most  revolutionary,  the  most  atheistic 
books  that  any  German  author  had  ever  printed."  The  work  was 
forbidden  in  Germany  and  other  monarchial  countries  because 
of  its  revolutionary  doctrines. 

In  1831  Heine  took  up  his  abode  in  Paris,  where  he  died  in 
1856.  A  spinal  malady  confined  him  to  his  bed  during  the  last 
eight  years  of  his  life,  but  during  this  period  of  suffering  in  what 
he  termed  his  "mattress-grave"  his  mind  remained  undimmed 
and  his  literary  activities  were  unabated. 

Heine's  songs  are  among  the  sweetest  ever  written  in  any 
tongue,  and  in  the  world's  literature  he  will  forever  rank  among 
the  masters  of  the  lyric  art.  One  of  the  most  widely  known  of  his 
songs  is  "The  Lorelei,"  which  is  unsurpassed  among  the  folk- 
songs of  any  people.  These  verses  will  illustrate  iis  bewitching 
sweetness : 


200 


HEINE  201 

I  know  not  whence  it  rises 

This  thought  so  full  of  woe; 
But  a  tale  of  times  departed 

Haunts  me,  and  will  not  go. 

The  air  is  cool,  and  it  darkens. 

And  calmly  flows  the  Rhine ; 
The  mountain-peaks  are  sparkling 

In  the  sunny  evening-shine. 
And  yonder  sits  a  maiden, 

The  fairest  of  the  fair; 
With  gold  is  her  garment  gleaming 

As  she  combs  her  golden  hair. 

Although  Heine  was  pre-eminently  a  poet,  his  prose  style 
was  remarkable  for  its  incisive  and  flashing  lucidity.  A  fine  speci- 
men is  this,  from  the  "Reisebilder,"  where  he  is  comparing  him- 
self with  Don  Quixote: 

"Perhaps,  after  all,  you  are  right,  and  I  am  only  a  Don 
Quixote,  and  the  reading  of  all  sorts  of  wonderful  books  has 
turned  my  head,  as  it  was  with  the  Knight  of  La  Mancha,  and 
Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  was  my  Amadis  of  Gaul,  Mirabeau  my 
Roland  or  Agramante;  and  I  have  studied  too  much  the  heroic 
deeds  of  the  French  Paladins  and  the  round-table  of  the  National 
Convention.  Indeed,  my  madness  and  the  fixed  ideas  that  I 
created  out  of  books  are  of  a  quite  opposite  kind  to  the  madness 
and  the  fixed  ideas  of  him  of  LaMancha.  He  wished  to  estabUsh 
again  the  expiring  days  of  chivalry;  I,  on  the  contrary,  wish  to 
annihilate  all  that  is  yet  remaining  from  that  time,  and  so  we 
work  with  altogether  diff'erent  views.  My  colleague  saw  wind- 
mills as  giants;  I,  on  the  contrary,  can  see  in  our  present  giants 
only  vaunting  wind-mills.  He  took  leather  wine-skins  for  mighty 
enchanters,  but  I  can  see  in  the  enchanters  of  to-day  only  leather 
wine-skins.  He  held  beggarly  pot-houses  for  castles,  donkey- 
drivers  for  cavaliers,  stable-wenches  for  court-ladies;  I,  on  the 


202  HEINE 

contrary,  hold  our  castles  for  beggarly  pot-houses,  our  cavahers 
for  mere  donkey-drivers,  our  court-ladies  for  ordinary  stable- 
wenches.  As  he  took  a  puppet-show  for  a  state  ceremony,  so  I 
hold  our  state  ceremonies  as  sorry  puppet-shows,  yet  as  bravely 
as  the  brave  Knight  of  La  Mancha  I  strike  out  at  the  clumsy 
machinery.  Alas!  such  heroic  deeds  often  turn  out  as  badly  for 
me  as  for  him,  and  I  must  suffer  much  for  the  honor  of  my  lady." 

Such  a  writer  is,  indeed,  fated  to  have  a  deal  of  trouble  with 
established  authority.  Heine  was  not  only  democratic  in  his  in- 
stincts; he  was  vindictively  and  pugnaciously  so.  He  was  not 
content  at  striking  at  his  opponent — he  must  sneer  at  him;  and 
blows  are  more  readily  forgiven  than  sneers.  But  he  loved  liberty, 
even  though  he  sometimes  confused  the  ideas  of  liberty  and 
license.  It  was  Heinrich  Heine  who  said :  "If  all  Europe  were  to 
become  a  prison,  America  would  still  present  a  loop-hole  of  escape ; 
and  God  be  praised !  the  loop-hole  is  larger  than  the  dungeon 
itself."  Matthew  Arnold  declared  Heine  to  be  "the  most  impor- 
tant German  successor  and  continuator  of  Goethe  in  Goethe's 
most  important  line  of  activity," — that  of  "a  soldier  in  the  war 
of  liberation  of  humanity." 

Heine  thus  speaks  of  his  early  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of 
Goethe:  "When  I  visited  him  in  Weimar,  and  stood  before  him, 
I  involuntarily  glanced  at  his  side  to  see  whether  the  eagle  was 
not  there  with  the  lightning  in  his  beak.  I  was  nearly  speaking 
Greek  to  him;  but  as  I  observed  that  he  understood  German,  I 
stated  to  him  in  German  that  the  plums  on  the  road  between 
Jena  and  Weimar  were  very  good.  I  had  for  so  many  long  winter 
nights  thought  over  what  lofty  and  profound  things  I  would  say 
to  Goethe,  if  I  ever  saw  him — and  when  I  saw  him  at  last,  I  said 
to  him  that  the  Saxon  plums  were  very  good !  And  Goethe  smiled." 

But  Heine,  with  all  his  wit  and  merriment,  was  by  no  means 
devoid  of  spiritual  thought.  He  was  a  man  who  loved  and  hated 
and  suffered  much,  and  he  learned,  with  Browning,  that  "Knowl- 
edge by  suffering  entereth."  From  his  mattress-grave  he  cried 
out:  "Wherever  a  great  soul  gives  utterance  to  its  thoughts, 
there,  also,  is  Golgotha !"  He  was  a  man  of  dual  personality.  He 
had  his  Bohemian  side ;  but  there  was  another  side,  which  appears 


HEINE  203 

in  many  of  his  songs,  and  in  such  anecdotes  as  this : 

"While  I  was  standing  before  the  cathedral  at  Amiens,"  he 
says,  "with  a  friend  who  with  mingled  fear  and  pity  was  regard- 
ing that  monument— built  with  the  strength  of  Titans  and  deco- 
rated with  the  patience  of  dwarfs— he  turned  to  me  at  last  and 
inquired,  'How  does  it  happen  that  we  do  not  erect  such  edifices 
in  our  day  T  And  my  answer  was,  'My  dear  Alphonse,  the  men  of 
that  day  had  convictions,  while  we  moderns  have  only  opinions ; 
and  something  more  than  opinions  is  required  to  build  a  cathe- 
dral." 

Heine  was  correctly  appraised  by  Gautier  in  these  words: 
"Never  was  a  nature  composed  of  more  diverse  elements  than  that 
of  Heine.  He  was  at  once  credulous,  tender,  and  cruel,  sentimen- 
tal and  mocking,  refined  and  cynical,  enthusiastic,  yet  cool-headed ; 
everything  except  dull." 


X. 
WEBER. 

The  literary  movement  begun  in  England  by  Keats  and 
Wordsworth  early  in  the  nineteenth  century  and  transmitted  by 
them  to  Tennyson,  had  its  altar  fires  carried  to  Germany  by 
Friederich  Wilhelm  Weber.  As  Walter  Scott  was  made  a  poet  by 
reading  and  translating  German  ballads,  so  did  Weber  gain  his 
first  poetical  inspiration  from  English  verse. 

Weber  was  born  Dec.  26,  1813,  at  Alhausen,  Westphalia. 
Like  La  Fontaine,  the  French  fabuHst,  he  was  the  son  of  a  forest- 
keeper.  He  first  studied  philology  at  Breslau,  where  he  was  a 
classmate  of  Gustav  Freitag,  the  poet  and  dramatist.  He  then 
studied  medicine,  and  thereafter  travelled  extensively  in  Ger- 
many, Italy  and  France.  He  practiced  medicine  in  Driburg  in 
1856,  and  was  attending  physician  at  a  sanitarium  in  Lippspringe. 
He  was  elected  to  the  Reichstag,  and  resided  for  the  remainder 
of  his  life  at  Nieheim,  in  Westphaha,  where  he  died  April  5,  1894. 

Weber's  genius  flowered  late  in  life.  He  was  fifty-six  years 
of  age,  and  had  then  lived  four  years  longer  than  Shakespeare, 
thirty  years  longer  than  Keats,  twenty-six  years  longer  than 
Shelly,  nineteen  years  longer  than  Burns,  and  eleven  years  longer 
than  Schiller  had  lived,  before  his  soul  burst  forth  in  that  divine 
efflorescence  which  thrilled,  adorned  and  glorified  the  German 
Fatherland  with  its  resplendent  gift  of  song.  In  1869  Weber 
gave  to  the  world  his  translation  of  Tennyson's  "Enoch  Arden." 
Three  years  later  he  published  his  "Swedish  Songs."  In  1874 
he  returned  to  his  first  love,  and  pubHshed  a  translation  of  Tenny- 
son's "Maude." 

Not  until  1876  did  he,  at  the  age  of  sixty-three,  put  forth  his 
"Dreizehnlinden,"  the  most  popular  poem  ever  produced  in  the 
German  language ;  a  poem  which  in  its  popularity  with  the  Ger- 

204 


WEBER  205 

irian  masses  has  outrivalled  even  Scheff  el's  "Trompeter  von  Saeck- 
ingen."  In  1906  the  one  hundredth  edition  of  "Dreizehnlinden" 
was  pubhshed  by  Rickelt,  and  the  occasion  was  celebrated 
throughout  Germany.    Other  editions  have  since  been  published. 

Weber  published  three  volumes  of  lyrics,  "Flowers  of  Mary," 
"Our  Father,"  and  "Autumn  Leaves." 

In  1892,  at  the  age  of  seventy-nine,  he  issued  his  "Goliath," 
an  epic  of  the  northern  races;  a  poem  which  some  critics  have 
regarded  as  superior  to  the  "Dreizehnlinden."  His  principal 
biographers  are  Schwering  (1900)  and  Keiter  (1903).  Loewen- 
burg,  in  his  "Dichterabende,"  published  in  1904,  places  him  among 
the  first  German  poets  of  modern  times. 

Aside  from  holding  his  seat  in  the  Prussian  legislature, 
Weber  appears  to  have  taken  little  or  no  interest  in  politics,  and 
when  not  engaged  in  the  active  practice  of  his  profession  he  led 
the  calm,  unostentatious  life  of  a  poet  of  nature,  as  quiet,  peaceful 
and  uneventful  as  that  of  Wordsworth  at  Grasmere  and  Rydal 
Mount.  His  simple,  graceful  and  melodious  numbers  suggest  the 
fascinating  felicity  of  Keats,  while  his  descriptions  of  nature 
transcend  the  beauties  of  Wordsworth.  In  canto  five  of  the 
"Dreizehnlinden,"  for  example,  we  catch  the  glow  of  evening,  we 
hear  the  droning  bee  that  has  lost  its  way,  we  see  the  swallow 
circling  home,  while  the  Weser  softly  flows,  and  all  nature  sighs 
to  rest  in  the  full  glory  of  a  night  in  June.  The  poem  is  an  epic 
song  of  the  victorious  fight  of  Christianity  with  Saxon  paganism 
a  thousand  years  ago.  The  life  of  the  forest  primeval  is  there; 
the  dark,  dank  wilderness,  the  bog  and  fen,  the  tinkling  springs, 
trickling  among  the  mosses  that  yield  to  the  tread  of  Saxon  war- 
riors marching  to  the  thunders  of  their  Thor,  while  the  smoke 
of  their  altar  fires  is  wreathed  among  the  ancient  boughs.  Hard 
by  is  the  monastery  of  the  Thirteen  Linden,  whence  the  poem 
takes  its  name.  In  the  fourth  canto  he  depicts  the  monks,  each 
one  so  life-like,  so  real,  that  his  presence  is  both  seen  and  felt. 
And,  as  in  the  great  Christian  epic  of  Tasso,  there  is  the  golden 
thread  of  romance  interwoven  throughout  the  tale — the  love  of 
Elmar,  the  heroic  Lord  of  Goshawk  Manor,  for  Hildegarde.     In 


206  WEBER 

this,  as  in  all  of  Weber's  works,  there  is  the  powerful  and  ever- 
present  Christian  motif,  rising  like  the  tide  and  bearing  down  all 
before  it.  In  him  we  find  none  of  the  mild  pantheism  of  Words- 
worth; none  of  the  sheer  hedonism  of  Goethe.  Throughout  all 
his  work  there  resounds  the  ringing  note  of  the  Christian  faith, 
dominant  and  clear,  virile  and  pure,  surpassing  in  its  tenderness, 
overwhelming  in  its  power.  In  this  sweet  and  prayerful  spirit 
does  he  close  his  greatest  poem : 

"Helf  uns  Gott  den  weg  zur  Heimat 
Aus  dem  Erdenland  zu  finden; 
Betet  fur  den  armen  Schreiber 
Schliest  den  Sang  von  Dreizehnlinden." 

That  so  remarkable  a  poem  has  thus  far  escaped  translation  into 
English,  and  is  almost  wholly  unknown  to  English  readers,  is  to 
be  attributed  only  to  an  oversight  on  the  part  of  those  who  are 
capable  of  performing  a  work  of  such  value  to  modern  culture. 
At  the  author's  request.  Rev.  John  Rothensteiner  of  St.  Louis, 
Missouri,  a  gifted  author  of  religious  songs,  has  rendered  into 
English  the  following  verses  from  Weber's  "Herbst-Blaetter" — 
Autumn  Leaves — which  afford  an  excellent  example  of  Weber's 
soulful  piety  and  the  placid  sweetness,  of  his  lyric  style: 

Was  Life  a  Dream? 

Past  eighty  winters,  here  my  journey  ends; 
Rest,  pilgrim-staff,  and  let  us  vigil  keep 
For  Charon's  boat  across  the  mystic  deep 
Whilst  dreamlike  o'er  the  past  my  spirit  bends, 
Recalling  life's  long  pain  and  brief  delight 
Like  yonder  sunset-clouds  all  golden  bright. 


WEBER  207 

Was  life  a  dream?— A  dewy  springtide  morn,  .  ♦ 

Mysterious  gloom  of  wild-wood  beech  and  oak, 

The  forest-ranger's  lodge,  the  quick,  sharp  stroke     • 

Of  woodman's  ax,  the  post-boy's  far  off  horn. 

The  finches'  happy  song,  the  stockdove's  call. 

And  church  bells  chiming  with  the  water-fall. 

Then  bench  and  table  in  a  whitewashed  hall, 
A  crowd  of  boys  with  faces  rosy-bright, 
Poring  o'er  book  and  script ;  one  man  of  might, 
Yet  kind  and  mild,  the  guide  and  friend  of  all. 
Homer  and  Plato  in  the  niches  low. 
And  laughing  Horace  and  great  Cicero. 

A  student  corps  with  face-disfigurements, 
On  each  proud  breast  the  vari-colored  band ; 
With  wit  and  wisdom  and  with  blade  in  hand 
Still  rich  in  want  and  folly  and  good  sense ; 
Keeping  in  song  and  wine  the  golden  mean. 
With  thoughts  as  high  as  eagles  and  as  keen. 

A  quaint  old  city  in  my  native  land. 
And  endless  battling  then  with  drouth  and  death, 
To  heal  each  pain,  and  ease  the  fevered  breath. 
By  grace  of  God,  with  skill  and  gentle  hand. 
Long  sleepless  nights,  and  weary  days  and  faint ; 
Now  grateful  thanks,  now  much  ungracious  plaint. 

And  many  a  bracing  ride  through  winter  snows. 
And  walks  along  the  spring-tide's  pageantry ; 
But  constant  care  and  sorrow  walked  with  me. 
And  oft  a  prayer,  a  cry  for  help  arose. 
But  half  my  prayer  was  lost,  and  yet  was  made 
Complete  by  those  that  cared  for  me  and  prayed. 


208  WEBER 

And  many  a  night  beneath  the  starry  throng 
Returning  from  my  day's  work  and  the  heat, 
Came  rhyme  on  rhyme,  as  measured  by  the  beat 
With  which  my  palfrey's  motion  led  my  song. 
All  gone,  forgotten,  what  was  born  of  night. 
Lost  as  it  came  in  Time's  eventful  flight. 

But  now  meseems,  I'm  dreaming  evermore; 
How  long,  how  long ! — A  kingdom  God  made  known 
Beyond  the  sea  of  time,  with  great  white  throne ; 
Afar  it  seems  to  raise  its  glittering  shore ; 
The  darksome  boatman  stands  and  beckons  me — 
God  grant  my  soul  the  blest  eternity. 


PART  SEVEN 

GREAT  BRITISH  AUTHORS 


I.  SHAKESPEARE 

II.  SPENSER 

III.  MILTON 

IV.  ADDISON 

V.  POPE 

VI.  BYRON 

VII.  SCOTT 

VIII.  WORDSWORTH 

IX.  DICKENS 

X.  TENNYSON 


The  English  L-^.nguage  has  a  veritable  power  of  ex- 
pression such  as,  perhaps,  never  stood  at  the  command 
of  any  other  lang-uage  cf  men.  Its  highly  spiritual  genius 
and  wonderfully  happy  development  and  condition  have 
been  the  result  of  a  surprisingly  intimate  union  of  the 
two  noblest  languages  in  Modern  Europe,  the  Teutonic 
and  the  Romaic.  It  is  well  known  in  w^hat  relation  these 
two  stand  to  one  another  in  tine  English  tongue;  the  for- 
mer supplying,  in  far  larger  proportion,  the  material 
ground  work;  the  latter,  the  spiritual  conceptions.  In 
truth  a  language,  v/hich  by  no  mere  accident  has  produced 
and  upborne  the  greatest  and  most  predominant  poet  of 
modern  times,  as  distinguished  from  the  ancient  classical 
poetry-  (I  can,  of  course,  only  mean  Shakespeare),  may, 
with  all  rig*;.t,  be  called  a  world-language,  and,  like  the 
English  people,  appears  destined  hereafter  to  prevail, 
with  a  sway  more  extensive  even  than  its  present,  over 
all  tlhe  portions  of  the  globe.  For  in  iwealth,  good  sense, 
and  closeness  of  structure,  no  other  cf  the  languages  at 
this  day  spoken  deserves  to  be  compared  with  it, — net 
even  our  Gernmn,  which  is  torn,  even  as  we  are  torn, 
and  must  first  rid  itself  of  many  defects  before  it  can 
enter  boldly  into  the  lists  as  a  competitor  with  the 
English. 

— Jacob  Grimm. 


SHAKESPEARE. 

William  Shakespeare  was  born  at  Stratford-on-Avon  in  1564, 
and  died  there  in  1616,  at  the  age  of  fifty-two.  The  biographical 
data  we  possess  concerning  him  are  too  meager,  unsatisfactory 
and  unimportant  to  cast  a  ray  of  light  upon  his  character.  We  are 
compelled  to  judge  him  by  his  work.  But  such  judgments  are  not 
always  true.  Shakespeare,  like  Lope  de  Vega,  wrote  to  please  the 
multitude  rather  than  to  instruct  it.  He  was  wholly  of  the  stage. 
It  was  for  him  both  home  and  workshop.  All  we  certainly  know 
of  him  lends  force  to  the  conviction  that  the  theatre  was  the  law 
of  his  love  and  life.  His  intellect  was  nurtured  in  this  dramatic 
diathesis.  One  should  be  chary  of  seeking  too  much  self -revelation 
in  the  plays  of  such  ^n  author.  Books  have  been  written  about 
"Shakespeare  as  a  Lawyer,"  etc.,  etc.,  from  information  vouch- 
safed in  his  plays.  It  seems  that  all  such  works  are  violative  of 
the  cardinal  principles  of  literary  criticism.  Shakespeare  was  not 
writing  lawbooks,  nor  works  upon  theology,  medicine  or  logic.  In 
passing  judgment  upon  a  literary  work  we  must  consider  the 
author's  intent.  We  have  no  right  to  consider  a  tragedy  as  a  work 
on  criminal  jurisprudence.  Shakespeare  was  primarily  a  play- 
wright. 

Because  of  the  slender  knowledge  extant  concerning  his  per- 
sonality, the  authorship  and  even  the  existence  of  Shakespeare 
have  been  questioned  in  recent  years.  Some  have  thought  it  im- 
possible that  an  unlearned  actor,  such  as  Shakespeare  certainly 
was,  could  have  written  the  plays  and  poems  ascribed  to  him.  But 
a  minute  study  of  the  Shakespearean  works  will  quickly  dispel 
the  illusion  that  these  works  bear  intrinsic  evidence  of  scholar- 
ship. Others  have  thought  that  so  great  a  man  must  have  made 
a  greater  stir  than  did  Shakespeare;  that  he  should  have  been  at 
least  as  well  known  as  Sir  Francis  Bacon.    The  soundness  of  that 

209 


210  SHAKESPEARE 

view  is  by  no  means  apparent.  Great  men  are  not  seldom  ignored 
by  those  immediately  surrounding  them.  Shakespeare's  occupa- 
tion was  not  respected  in  his  day.  Moreover,  in  actual  scholar- 
ship, he  was  greatly  inferior  to  Ben  Johnson,  Marlowe,  and  other 
dramatists  of  the  time.  He  was  a  skilled  adapter  and  compiler 
of  the  work  of  other  men,  which  he  often  passed  as  his  own,  a 
faculty  not  likely  to  win  the  highest  encomiums  from  his  own 
associates. 

As  a  writer  of  comedy  Shakespeare  will  hardly  be  accepted 
as  the  superior  of  Moliere,  whose  mode  of  life  much  resembled 
that  of  the  English  bard;  in  fertility  of  invention  he  was  vastly 
inferior  to  Lope  de  Vega,  whom  he  resembles  in  temporal  success ; 
and  in  sheer  depth  and  force  of  intellect,  in  breadth  of  scholarship 
and  ripeness  of  culture,  he  is  not  to  be  compared  with  Goethe. 
As  a  writer  of  tragic  poetry  only,  he  lacked  the  pristine  fire  of 
the  Greek  masters  and  the  classical  correctness  of  the  French. 
Where,  then,  is  his  superiority  ?  His  excellence  is  due  almost 
wholly  to  his  intuitive  knowledge  of  the  human  emotions.  Here 
his  wisdom  is  truly  prodigious,  and  he  rises  to  almost  super- 
natural stature.  He  was  the  most  sensitive  and  the  keenest  of 
all  observers.  He  was  omniscient  in  his  perceptivity,  ubiquitous 
in  his  perspicacity,  overmastering  in. the  abysmal  reach  of  his 
passion-voicing  power.  What  he  saw  he  felt,  and  what  he  felt 
his  consummate  artistry  translated  to  the  minds  of  men.  He 
could  truly  say  with  his  own  Othello:  "This  is  the  only  witch- 
craft I  have  used."  He  viewed,  with  an  infinite  sagacity, 
and  with  a  single  all-sweeping  glance,  the  perimeter  of 
human  conduct.  Seldom  indeed  has  it  been  given  to  the 
eye  of  mortal  m.an  to  see  the  inmost  secrets  of  hearts  as 
Shakespeare  saw  them;  to  read  them  as  they  were  read  by  his 
all-seeing  and  unerring  eye ;  or  to  voice  the  tumults  of  the  soul  as 
he  has  uttered  them,  linked  with  the  eternal  harmonies  and  rapt 
in  the  rythm  of  a  deathless  truth.  Here,  then,  is  the  secret  of 
his  mastery,  his  mystery  and  his  power.  In  the  face  of  self- 
evident  genius  of  the  most  exalted  type,  critics  fain  would  search 
for  scholarship.  They  would  see  Shakespeare's  diploma!  Not 
only  would  Bacon's  scholarship  have  been  without  value  in  pro- 


SHAKESPEARE  211 

ducing  the  Shakespearean  creations;  it  would  have  made  them 
impossible.  As  Hudson  says,  in  his  introduction  to  King  Lear 
(taking  the  thought  from  Dryden),  "Had  he  been  more  addicted 
to  looking  at  Nature  through  'th'^  spectacles  of  books',  or  through 
other  mien's  eyes,  he  would  probably  have  seen  less  of  her  inward 
meaning,  and  been  less  happy  and  less  idiomatic  in  his  trans- 
lation of  it."  However  pleasing  to  pedantic  vanity  may  be  the 
theory  that  the  great  dramatic  poet  was  versed  in  the  lore  of 
books,  the  plays  themselves  afford  conclusive  evidence  to  the 
contrary.  Had  Shakespeare  beon  learned  in  the  historical  and 
classical  literature  familiar  to  the  cultured  minds  of  his  genera- 
tion, he  could  not  have  displayed  so  much  ignorance  regarding 
the  lives  and  times  described  in  many  of  his  plays. 

Enough  has  been  presented  by  modern  scholarship  to  show 
that,  in  at  least  the  most  accessible  of  the  fields  of  learning  at 
that  time  (history  and  biography),  Shakespeare  cannot  be  re- 
proached with  scholarship.  Who  does  not  envy  Scott's  old 
cavalier  knight  in  Woodstock,  with  his  "Will  Shakespeare  says" 
forever  on  his  tongue?  We  know  that  old  Sir  Henry  had  no 
commentaries  in  his  edition ;  that  the  bard  he  knew  was  the  old 
magician  himself,  Shakespeare  unannotated  and  unadorned,  mag- 
nificent in  his  mystery,  adorable  in  his  beauty,  inexplicable  and 
unexplained.  But,  so  patiently  and  passionately  have  his  de- 
votees pursued  him,  in  their  anxiety  to  trace  those  mystic  veins 
of  virgin  gold  to  the  mother-lode,  that  they  have  but  too  well 
succeeded. 

Historical  research  has  nov:  fairly  established  the  fact  that 
not  a  single  one  of  the  plays,  nor  a  single  one  of  the  great  poems 
attributed  to  him,  is  in  plot,  thought  and  verbiage  wholly  original 
with  him.  No  finished  work  that  bears  his  glorious  name  is 
original  in  its  entirety.  In  some  instances  he  has  paraphrased, 
and  in  other  places  he  has  deliberately  taken  the  words  of  other 
writers,  placed  them  in  the  mouths  of  his  own  characters,  and 
thus  used  them  as  his  own.  Rut  his  characters,  once  he  has 
touched  them,  become  peculiarly  and  distinctly  his  own.  The 
whole  history  of  art  discloses  no  creation  bearing  more  clearly 
the  mark  and  stamp  of  exclusive  individuality.     The  play  mav 


212  SHAKESPEARE 

be  a  time-worn  theme  or  another's  plot,  but  the  characters  are 
Shakespeare's  very  own.  In  his  essay  on  Quotations  and  Origi- 
nality, Emerson  observes:  "When  Shakespeare  is  charged  with 
debts  to  authors,  Landor  replies,  'yet  he  was  more  original  than 
his  originals.  He  breathed  upon  dead  bodies  and  brought  them 
into  life'."  So  he  did.  Shylock  and  Hamlet  were  well-known 
characters  in  the  older  drama  before  Shakespeare  heard  of  them. 
But  not  until  he  touched  them  with  the  wand  of  his  mystic  power 
did  they  become  instinct  with  life. 

Among  all  the  women  of  the  stage,  where  shall  we  find  such 
another  group  of  feminine  intellects  as  Portia,  Isabella,  Beatrice 
and  Rosalind?  Or  such  beautiful  creatures  of  passion  as  Juliet, 
Helena,  Perdita,  Viola,  Ophelia  and  Miranda?  Where  such  char- 
acters of  the  affections  as  Hermione,  Desdemona,  Imogen  and 
Cordelia?  One  may  almost  hear  the  rustle  of  their  garments  as 
they  pass. 

Sir  John  Falstaff,  of  protuberant  abdomen,  swaggering,  un- 
gracious gait  and  braggart  speech,  drinking  and  swearing  and 
lying,  hearty  and  jolly  withal,  grunting  with  comfort  and  reek- 
ing with  ale,  still  treads  the  boards  alone  and  greets  us  with  his 
loud  guffaw.  And  there  are  Slender  and  Justice  Shallow,  and  the 
inimitable  Dogberry,  as  Ulrici  called  him  "the  clown  par  excel- 
lence," who  insisted  upon  being  written  down  an  ass — in  official- 
dom the  climax  of  absurdity,  but  none  the  less  true  to  type  as 
the  ebullience  of  legalism  and  the  efflorescence  of  village  politics. 
Who  can  forget  Jaques,  "the  melancholy  Jacques,"  who  could 
"suck  m.elancholy  out  of  a  song-  as  a  weasel  sucks  eggs?"  Or 
Touchstone,  of  whom  Hudson  said  "he  is  the  most  entertaining 
of  Shakespeare's  privileged  characters"?  There,  too,  is  the  asi- 
nine Bottom,  still  rehearsing  "most  obscenely  and  courageously." 
The  fairies  "fan  the  moonbeams  from  his  sleeping  eyes,"  and  he 
calls  for  "a  bottle  of  hay."  So  do  the  airy  spirits  mingle  with  the 
clownishness  of  this  world.  Fairies!  Queen  Mab,  "no  bigger  than 
an  agate-stone  on  the  forefinger  of  an  alderman";  Puck,  and 
Ariel,  Titania  and  her  dewy  train!  Were  there  ever  such  fairies 
as  we  find  in  Shakespeare  ?  Of  all  the  dramatists,  he  alone  seems 
to  possess  the  gift  of  the  occult,  the  mastery  of  the  supernatural. 


SHAKESPEARE  21^ 

■  Of  the  historic  and  tragic  characters  we  need  say  nothing  now. 
The  reader  who  has  not  wept  with  Othello,  shuddered  at  Macbeth 
or  been  moved  by  the  tragic  spirit  of  Hamlet,  is  impervious  to 
human  feeling  and  devoid  of  human  passion.  Indeed,  we  may  say 
with  Macaulay:  "The  characters  of  which  he  has  given  us  an 
impression  as  vivid  as  that  which  we  receive  from  the  characters 
of  our  own  associates,  are  to  be  reckoned  by  the  score."  In  this 
respect  he  leaves  all  other  dramatists  far  behind.  "Compare  him 
with  Homer,  the  tragedians  of  Greece,  the  poets  of  Italy,  Plautus, 
Cervantes,  Moliere,  Addison,  Le  Sage,  Fielding,  Richardson, 
Scott,  the  romancers  of  the  elder  or  later  schools,"  says  Henry 
Hallam — "one  man  has  far  more  than  surpassed  them  all.  Others 
may  have  been  as  sublime,  others  may  have  been  more  pathetic, 
others  may  have  equalled  him  in  grace  and  purity  of  language, 
and  have  shunned  some  of  his  faults ;  but  the  philosophy  of  Shake- 
speare, his  intimate  searching  out  of  the  human  heart,  whether 
in  the  gnomic  form  of  sentence,  or  in  the  dramatic  exhibition  of 
character,  is  a  gift  peculiarly  his  own." 

Coleridge,  in  his  Biographia  Literaria,  calls  him  "Our  myriad- 
minded  Shakespeare."  Thomas  Carlyle,  in  his  essay  on  "Char- 
acteristics of  Shakespeare,"  says:  "If  I  say  that  Shakespeare  is 
the  greatest  of  intellects,  I  have  said  all  concerning  him."  But 
he  was  not  the  greatest  of  intellects.  He  was  not  the  greatest  of 
poets.  But,  as  a  painter  of  human  character,  his  work  has  not 
been  equalled  in  any  nation  or  in  any  age.  Shakespeare,  as  none 
before  or  since  have  done,  could  read  the  message  of  the  soul  and 
speak  the  language  of  the  heart. 

"Great  he  miay  be  justly  called,"  Professor  Blair  observed  in 
his  lecture  on  English  trajedy,  "as  the  extent  and  force  of  his 
natural  genius,  both  for  tragedy  and  comedy,  are  altogether  un- 
rivaled. But,  at  the  same  time,  it  is  a  genius  shooting  wild ;  de- 
ficient in  just  taste,  and  altogether  unassisted  by  knowledge  or 
art.  Long  has  he  been  idolized  V)y  the  British  nation ;  much  has 
been  said,  and  much  has  been  written  concerning  him ;  criticism 
has  been  drawn  to  the  very  dregs,  in  commentaries  upon  his 
words  and  witticisms;  and  yet  it  remains,  to  this  day,  in  doubt, 
whether  his  beauties  or  his  faults  be  greatest.  *  *  *  *     All  these 


214  SHAKESPEARE 

faults,  however,  Shakespeare  redeems,  by  two  of  the  greatest 
excellencies  which  any  tragic  poet  can  possess;  his  lively  and 
diversified  paintings  of  character ;  his  strong  and  natural  expres- 
sions of  passion.  These  are  his  two  chief  virtues;  on  these  his 
merit  rests." 

So  vast,  indeed,  is  the  diver'^.ity  of  his  portraiture  of  human 
passion  that  the  human  soul  knows  no  attitude  in  which  the  great 
painter  has  not  limned  it  forth  in  all  its  lights  and  shades,  in  all 
its  beauty  and  its  truth,  and  placed  it  in  the  endless  gallery  of 
his  art,  for  the  wonder  and  admiration  of  the  ages.  "Amid  so 
many  portraitures,"  as  Taine  has  remarked,  we  must,  perforce, 
"choose  two  or  three  to  indicate  the  depth  and  nature  of  them 
all ;"  for  "the  critic  is  lost  in  Shakespeare  as  in  an  immense  town ; 
lie  will  describe  a  couple  of  monuments,  and  entreat  the  reader  to 
imagine  the  city." 


n. 

SPENSER. 

Born  in  1552,  Edmund  Spenser  was  nine  years  older  than 
Bacon,  and  twelve  years  older  than  Shakespeare.  He  was  a  native 
of  London,  and  took  his  master's  degree  at  Cambridge  in  1576. 
Three  years  later  he  published  his  "Shepherd's  Calendar,"  which 
Dryden  proclaimed  to  be  without  an  equal  in  any  language,  fur- 
ther declaring  that  it  placed  Spenser  in  the  class  of  Virgil  and 
Theocritus.  This  pastoral,  in  twelve  books,  was  the  first  really 
forceful  and  sustained  effort  in  English  poetry  since  the  days  of 
Chaucer,  and  was  immediately  recognized  as  the  work  of  a  master, 
although  it  betrays  the  diffuseness,  prolixity,  pedantic  phraseology 
and  tendency .  to  grotesque  exaggeration  which  too  often  mar 
Spenser's  style,  and  it  by  no  means  justifies  the  extravagant 
encomium  of  Dryden.  However,  it  won  warm  praise  from  Sir 
Philip  Sidney  and  a  meager  patronage  from  the  powerful  and 
popular  Earl  of  Leicester,  one  of  the  favorites  of  Queen  Elizabeth. 

At  about  this  time  the  poet  was  appointed  secretary  to  Lord 
Grey,  but  recently  created  Lord  Deputy  of  Ireland.  With  his  new 
chieftain  he  at  once  entered  upon  the  turbulent  duties  of  the 
British  service  in  that  unhappy  island — a  work  which  was  to 
occupy  the  remainder  of  his  life.  Spenser  and  Sir  Waiter  Raleigh 
were  both  with  Lord  Grey  at  the  tragedy  of  Smerwick,  where  six 
hundred  of  the  Irish,  after  having  peacefully  and  voluntarily  sur- 
rendered their  arms,  were  cruelly  massacred  by  order  of  the 
English  general.  Raleigh,  it  is  said,  was  captain  of  one  of  the 
bands  of  executioners.  It  is  not  beheved  that  the  poet  took  any 
part  in  this  or  other  armed  engagements,  but  it  is  certain  that 
he  was  at  all  times  an  eloquent  defender  of  Lord  Grey's  merciless 
and  remorseless  regime. 

With  but  occasional  visits  to  England,  Spenser  remained  in 
Ireland  from  the  time  of  Desmond's  rebellion  in  1580  until  the 

215 


216  SPENSER 

outbreak  of  Tyrone's  rebellion  in  1599.  Many  of  the  events  of 
those  terrible  years,  when  the  English  attempted  to  exterminate 
the  entire  population  of  Munster,  are  calmly  reported  by  Spenser 
in  his  document  entitled  ''View  of  the  present  State  of  Ireland." 
Spenser  went  to  Ireland  for  no  romantic  purpose;  but,  as  Dean 
Church  in  his  biography  observes:  "He  came  to  make  his  for- 
tune as  well  as  he  could,  and  he  accepted  the  conditions  of  place 
and  scene,  and  entered  at  once  into  the  game  of  adventure  and 
gain  which  was  the  natural  one  for  all  English  comers,  and  of 
which  the  prizes  were  lucrative  offices  and  forfeited  manors  and 
abbeys.  And  in  the  native  population  and  native  interests,  he 
saw  nothing  but  what  called  forth  not  merely  antipathy  but  deep 
moral  condemnation.  It  was  not  merely  that  the  Irish  were  ig- 
norant, thriftless,  filthy,  debased  and  loathsome  in  their  pitiable 
misery  and  despair;  it  was  that  in  his  view,  justice,  truth,  honesty, 
had  utterly  perished  among  them.,  and  therefore  were  not  due  to 
them.  Of  any  other  side  of  the  picture  he,  like  other  good  English- 
men, was  entirely  unconscious;  he  saw  only  on  all  sides  of  him 
the  empire  of  barbarism  and  misrule  which  valiant  and  godly 
Englishmen  were  fighting  to  vanquish  and  destroy — fighting 
against  apparent  but  not  real  odds.  And  all  this  was  aggravated 
by  the  stifle  adherence  of  the  Irish  to  their  old  religion." 

Such  was  the  harsh  and  gloomy  setting  in  which  Spenser 
took  up  the  work  of  writing  that  splendid  allegory  'The  Faery 
Queen,"  a  poem  distinguished  for  its  elevated  religious  tone,  its 
dreamy  enchantment,  its  softness  of  coloring,  delicacy  of  fancy 
and  the  melodious  beauty  and  harmony  of  its  numbers.  It  is  one 
of  the  longest  poems  in  the  English  language.  It  is  more  than 
twice  as  long  as  MiJton's  great  epic,  or  Tennyson's  Idylls  of  the 
King.  But  few  of  the  greater  English  poems  display  such  a 
lavish  profusion  and  richness  of  imagery,  a  musical  cadence  so 
exquisite,  stately,  and  unfaihng,  or  a  versatility  so  fascinating 
and  exhaustless.  Little  wonder  that  Spenser  has  been  a  favorite 
with  so  many  of  our  greater  poets.  He  was  admired  by  Shake- 
speare. Hallam  thinks  him  superior  to  Ariosto.  Cowley  says 
that  he  was  made  a  poet  by  reading  Spenser.  Dryden  says: 
"Milton  has  acknowledged  to  me  that  Spenser  was  his  original." 


SPENSER  217 

Pope  found  the  Faerie  Queen  an  unfailing  joy  in  both  youth  and 
age.  Matthew  Arnold  said:  "His  verse  is  more  fluid,  slips  more 
easily  and  quickly  along,  than  the  verse  of  almost  any  other 
English  poet."  Campbell  calls  him,  because  of  the  luxurious  har- 
mony of  his  colorings,  the  "Rubens  of  English  poetry."  No  poet, 
indeed,  has  made  a  more  profound  impression  upon  the  poets  who 
have  followed  him.  A  pronounced  defect  of  the  piece,  however,  is 
the  cringing,  sycophantic  and  odious  truckling  to  arbitrary  power 
by  means  of  an  utterly  shameless  and  nauseating  flattery  of  the 
vain,  capricious  and  ill-tempered  Queen  of  England.  As  Gloriana, 
Elizabeth  is  made  empress  of  all  true  nobility ;  as  Belphoebe  she  is 
represented  as  the  princess  of  all  sweetness  and  beauty ;  as  Brito- 
mart  the  armed  votaress  of  all  purity,  and  as  Mercilla,  the  lady 
of  all  compassion  and  grace! 

The  reader  may  catch  the  langorous  charm  of  his  verse  from 
the  following  excerpt,  describing  the  dwelling  of  Morpheus: 

And  more  to  lull  him  in  his  slumber  soft, 

A  trickling  stream  from  high  rock  tumbling  down, 

An  ever-drizzling  rain  upon  the  loft, 

Mix't  with  a  murmuring  wind  much  like  the  sowne 

Of  swarming  bees,  did  cast  him  in  a  swoon. 

No  other  noise,  nor  people's  troublous  cries, 

As  still  are  wont  t'  annoy  the  walled  town. 

Might  there  be  heard ;  but  careless  Quiet  lies 

Wrapt  in  eternal  silence  far  from  enemies. 

In  1595,  in  celebration  of  his  marriage,  Spenser  produced  his 
Epithalamion,  one  of  the  greatest  of  English  lyrics,  and  probably 
the  finest  composition  of  its  kind  in  any  language.  But,  in  less 
than  four  years,  the  Irish  stormed  his  castle  of  Kilcolman,  and 
the  poet  and  his  young  wife  barely  escaped  with  their  lives,  leaving 
their  babe  to  perish  in  the  flames.  Spenser  reached  England  in 
a  state  of  despair,  and  died  soon  thereafter,  having  published  but 


218  SPENSER 

half  of  the  "Faery  Queen."  The  remaining  six  books,  if  they 
were  ever  completed,  perished  with  the  poet's  child  in  Kilcolman 
castle.  Thus  died  the  first  of  the  great  Elizabethan  poets.  Critics 
like  Macaulay  may  complain  of  his  tedium — a  defect  common  to 
most  allegorical  tales — but  none  will  deny  that  Spenser  was  the 
first  to  show  forth  the  spacious  beauties  of  English  speech.  He 
is  buried  in  Westminster  Abbey,  near  the  tomb  of  Chaucer. 

His  limpid,  hquid  note  is  thus  intoned  by  Keats : 
"A  silver  trumpet  Spenser  blows, 

And,  as  its  martial  notes  to  silence  flee. 
From  a  virgin  chorus  flows 

A  hymn  in  praise  of  spotless  Chastity. 
'Tis  still!  Wild  warblings  from  th'  Eolian  lyre 
Enchantment  softly  breathe,  and  tremblingly  expire." 


III. 

MILTON. 

His  soul  was  like  a  star  and  dwelt  apart. 

— Wordsworth. 

John  Milton,  the  most  learned  man  that  ever  dipped  pen  in 
the  ethereal  fountains  of  Enghsh  verse,  was  born  Dec.  9,  1608, 
eight  years  before  the  death  of  Shakespeare.  He  was  a  native 
of  London,  received  his  early  education  at  St.  Paul's  school,  near 
his  home,  and  at  sixteen  entered  Christ's  College  at  Cambridge, 
where,  during  a  seven  years'  course,  he  took  both  his  bachelor's 
and  master's  degrees.  Meanwhile,  his  father,  a  scrivener,  had 
acquired  a  competence  and  retired  to  a  country  seat  at  Horton, 
whither  his  gifted  son  followed. 

At  Horton,  Milton  pursued  an  elaborate  course  o"  self-culture, 
whereby  he  designed  to  perfect  himself  in  the  literature  of  Greece 
and  Rome,  as  well  as  in  the  modern  languages.  He  acquired  a 
complete  mastery  not  only  of  Greek  and  Latin,  but  of  Hebrew, 
Syriac,  Italian,  French,  Dutch  and  other  European  languages. 
During  his  six  years  at  Horton  he  composed  L'Allegro,  II  Pen- 
seroso,  Comus  and  Lycidas,  and  emerged  from  his  retirement  as 
one  of  the  first  lyric  poets  of  the  age.  Indeed,  his  L'Allegro  and 
II  Penseroso  have  never  been  surpassed  in  English  verse. 

He  now  departed  for  Italy,  where  he  was  to  spend  fifteen 
months.  At  Paris  he  met  the  great  Dutch  writer,  Hugo  Grotius. 
He  interviewed  Galileo  at  Florence.  At  Naples  he  visited  the 
Marquis  of  Villa,  then  in  his  old  age,  who  had  in  his  youth  be- 
friended Tasso.  At  every  point  he  visited  the  great  libraries,  met 
the  literati,  and  studied  assiduously  to  perfect  himself  in  litera- 
ture. To  distinguish  himself  as  the  author  of  a  great  poem  had 
been  the  dream  of  his  life,  and  it  was  an  ideal  which,  throughout 
his  busy  and  varied  career,  he  never  for  one  moment  relinquished. 

219 


220  MILTON 

In  1639  he  returned  to  England,  and  opened  a  school  for  boys  in 
London. 

At  the  age  of  thirty-five  he  contracted  a  marriage  which 
proved  unhappy.  Four  years  after  the  death  of  his  first  wife  he 
married  again.  His  second  wife  died  in  fifteen  months.  In  1663 
he  contracted  a  third  marriage.  He  was,  in  modern  times,  the 
first  great'  advocate  of  divorce,  and  his  utterances  upon  woman- 
kind in  general  do  not  mark  him  as  one  who  would,  in  any  circum- 
stances, find  the  domestic  relation  particularly  happy. 

In  1649  he  was  made  Latin  secretary  to  Cromwell.  Overwork 
in  this  office  was  the  immediate  cause  of  his  blindness.  At  the 
age  of  forty-three  his  eye-sight  was  wholly  gone.  However,  he 
continued  in  his  ofl^ce  until  1658.  With  the  Restoration  in  1660 
Milton,  blind  and  poor,  became  a  fugitive,  but  he  was  afterwards 
included  in  the  general  amnesty.  Now,  at  the  age  of  fifty-two,  he 
seriously  set  to  work  upon  the  poem  which  had  been  the  ambition 
of  his  life,  and  which  he  had  meditated  upon  various  occasions  for 
a  quarter  of  a  century.  During  the  preceding  twenty  years  he 
had  published  some  twenty-five  tracts,  and  had  achieved  fame 
as  a  master  of  polemical  warfare,  although  much  of  his  prose  is 
mere  epideictic  display.  But  in  all  these  wordy  digladiations  is 
the  battle-trump  of  an  orotund  style,  resonant,  strong  and  clear, 
bearing  down  all  obstacles  in  the  roll  and  sweep  of  its  majestic 
power.  "It  is  to  be  regretted,"  says  Macaulay,  "that  the  prose 
v/ritings  of  Milton  should,  in  our  time,  be  so  little  read.  As  com- 
positions they  deserve  the  attention  of  every  man  who  wishes  to 
become  acquainted  with  the  full  power  of  the  English  language. 
They  abound  with  passages  compared  with  which  the  finest  decla- 
mations of  Burke  sink  into  insignificance.  They  are  a  perfect 
Field  of  Cloth  of  Gold.  The  style  is  stiff  with  gorgeous  embroi- 
dery  It  is  to  borrow  his  own  majestic  language,  *a  seven- 
fold chorus  of  hallelujahs  and  harping  symphonies'."  Mark  Pat- 
tison,  too,  in  his  biography  of  Milton,  is  similarly  impressed  with 
the  magnificence  of  Milton's  prose.  Says  he:  "They  are  monu- 
ments of  our  language  so  remarkable  that  Milton's  prose  works 
must  always  be  resorted  to  by  students  as  long  as  English  remains 


'    MILTON  '  221 

a  medium  of  ideas."  As  James  Russell  Lowell  said,  "It  was  an 
organ  that  Milton  mastered,  mighty  in  compass,  capable  equally 
of  the  tempest's  ardors  or  the  slim  delicacy  of  the  flute ;  and  some- 
times it  bursts  forth  in  great  crashes  through  his  prose,  as  if  he 
touched  it  for  solace  in  the  intervals  of  his  toil." 

We  know  more  of  the  details  of  Milton's  life  than  of  any 
author  of  his  time.  His  biography  in  six  octavo  volumes  by  David 
Masson  is  one  of  the  most  exhaustive  works  of  its  kind  in  the 
English  language.  It  may,  however,  be  epitomized  as  a  life  of 
hard  work,  political  controversy,  and  superhuman  diligence  in  the 
pursuit  of  learning.  Liberty  was  the  consuming  and  obsessing 
passion  of  his  life,  and  to  its  hallowed  service  he  gave  his  best 
years  in  controversy  with  royalty  upon  the  one  hand  and  Puri- 
tanism on  the  other.  Like  Lessing  in  Germany,  he  struggled 
unceasingly  for  the  freedom  of  the  press,  and  his  "Areopagitica" 
will  forever  remain  among  the  conspicuous  monuments  erected 
to  the  freedom  of  speech.     Of  freedom  he  said : 

"None  can  love  freedom  heartily  but  good  men ;  the  rest  love 
not  freedom,  but  license,  which  never  hath  more  scope  or  more 
indulgence  than  under  tyrants.  Hence  it  is  tyrants  are  not  oft 
off"ended  by,  nor  stand  much  in  doubt  of  bad  men,  as  being  all 
naturally  servile ;  but  in  whom  virtue  and  true  worth  is  most  emi- 
nent, them  they  fear  in  earnest,  as  by  right  their  masters ;  against 
them  lies  all  their  hatred  and  corruption." 

But  not  until  his  public  career  was  ended,  his  period  of  storm 
and  stress  was  over  and  his  hfe's  work  was  nearly  done,  did  Mil- 
ton find  leisure  for  his  greatest  work.  Then  it  was,  when  ambi- 
tion's hopes  were  withered  and  most  earthly  ties  were  severed; 
then,  when  in  blindness  and  poverty  his  sun  was  sinking  among 
the  clouds,  did  the  farewell  beam.t'  of  his  mighty  genius  burst  upon 
the  world  in  a  flood  of  eternal  light.  When  the  raucous  voice  of 
controversy  became  inaudible  to  his  ear  the  celestial  voices  en- 
tered and  the  noise  of  the  rabble  pave  way  to  the  harmonies  of  the 
infinite.  When  the  carnal  beauties  of  the  world  faded  away  be- 
fore his  sightless  eyes,  "the  celestial  light  shone  inward,"  and  he 
visualized  the  gleaming  armaments  of  Heaven  in  their  glorious 


222  MILTON 

pageantry  of  golden  light.    Then  did  his  mighty  harp  vibrate  to 
the  unseen  touch,  and  the  Spirit  vouchsafed  answer  to  his  prayer; 

" what  in  me  is  dark 

Illumine,  what  is  low  raise  and  support ; 
That  to  the  height  of  this  great  argument 
I  may  assert  Eternal  Providence, 
And  justify  the  ways  of  God  to  men." 

The  Paradise  Lost  was  finished  in  1665,  and  was  published 
two  years  later.  For  grandeur  and  sublimity  it  is  unequalled  in 
the  English  language,  and  its  elevated  style  is  matched  in  modern 
times  by  none  but  Dante.  The  thunder-roll  of  his  noble  periods 
finds  no  echo  in  the  English  tongue.  ''The  Paradise  Lost  is  looked 
upon,  by  the  best  judges,  as  the  greatest  production,  or  at  least 
the  noblest  work  of  genius,  in  our  language,"  says  Joseph  Addison. 
Samuel  Johnson  says :  "Before  the  greatness  displayed  in  Milton's 
poem,  all  other  greatness  shrinks  away."  Hume  declared  him  to 
be  "the  most  wonderfully  sublime  of  any  poet  in  any  language — 
Homer,  Lucretius  and  Tasso  not  excepted."  Certainly  the  his- 
tory of  literature  affords  no  other  example  of  a  work  so  stupen- 
dous in  its  magnificence,  brought  to  completion  under  conditions 
less  conducive  to  perfection  in  literary  work. 

"His  blindness  seems  to  have  been  complete  before  1654," 
writes  Hallam  in  his  Literature  of  Europe;  "and  I  scarcely  think 
that  he  had  begun  his  poem  before  the  anxiety  and  trouble  into 
which  the  public  strife  of  the  commonwealth  and  the  Restoration 
had  thrown  him  gave  leisure  for  immortal  occupations.  Then 
the  remembrance  of  early  reading  came  over  his  dark  and  lonely 
path  like  the  moon  emerging  from  the  clouds.  Then  it  was  that 
the  muse  was  truly  his;  not  only  as  she  poured  her  creative  in- 
spiration into  his  mind,  but  as  the  daughter  of  Memory,  coming 
with  fragments  of  ancient  melodies,  the  voice  of  Euripides,  and 
Homer,  and  Tasso ;  sounds  that  he  had  loved  in  youth,  and  treas- 
ured up  for  the  solace  of  his  age.    They  w^ho,  though  not  enduring 


f  MILTON  "  223 

the  calamity  of  Milton,  have  known  what  it  is,  when  afar  from 
books,  in  solitude  or  in  travelling,  or  in  the  intervals  of  worldly 
care,  to  feed  on  poetical  recollections,  to  murmur  over  the  beauti- 
ful lines  whose  cadence  had  long  delighted  their  ear,  to  recall 
the  sentiments  and  images  which  retain  by  association  the  charm 
that  early  years  once  gave  them — they  will  feel  the  inestimable 
value  of  committing  to  the  mem.ory,  in  the  prime  of  its  power^ 
what  it  will  easily  receive  and  indelibly  retain." 

But  Milton's  memory,  marvelous  as  it  was,  did  not  alone  suf- 
fice. He  was  obliged  to  call  upon  his  daughters,  and  when  they, 
perchance,  rebelled,  upon  his  friends,  to  read  to  him  the  countless 
works  whose  beauty  and  whose  truth  he  was  to  transfuse,  in  the 
alembic  of  his  genius,  into  the  priceless  gems  of  his  poesy.  Some 
writers  have  intimated  that  Milton  owed  his  Paradise  Lost  to 
Grotius,  to  Vondel,  or  to  Andreini.  The  drama  of  the  fall  of  m.an 
was  presented  by  Hugh  Grotius  in  "Adamus  Exsul."  The  same 
theme  was  exploited  by  another  great  Dutchman,  Joost  Van  den 
Vondel,  in  his  "Lucifer"  and  his  "Adam  Ballingschap."  Andreini 
attempted  an  Italian  play,  or  sacra  rappresentazione,  in  manner 
and  form  resembling  the  Spanish  auto.  But  none  of  these  produc- 
tions could  have  been  of  great  service  to  Milton,  although  he  was 
familiar  with  them  all.  He  is  nearer  to  Vondel  only  because  both 
took  Sophocles  and  Euripides  for  their  models. 

In  1671  "Paradise  Regained"  and  "Samson  Agonistes"  were 
published.  "Nothing,"  says  Goethe,  "has  ever  been  done  so  en- 
tirely in  the  sense  of  the  Greeks,  as  Samson  Agonistes."  In  1674 
Milton  died,  as  one  has  said,  "old  and  blind  and  fallen  on  evil 
days,"  yet  "with  his  Titanic  proportions  and  independent  loneli- 
ness, the  most  impressive  figure  in  English  literature."  Let  us 
quote,  in  conclusion,  from  the  beautiful  tribute  of  Gray : 

"He  passed  the  flaming  bounds  of  place  and  time — 
;  The  living  throne,  the  sapphire-blaze, 

Where  angels  tremble,  while  they  gaze, 
i  He  saw ;  but,  blasted  with  excess  of  light, 

•    ';  Closed  his  eyes  in  endless  night." 


IV. 
ADDiSON. 

Joseph  Addison,  born  May  1,  1672,  the  son  of  an  EngUsh 
clergyman,  entered  Oxford  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  and  soon  became 
noted  for  his  proficiency  in  Latin  verse.  On  leaving  Oxford  in 
1699  he  was,  through  the  instrumentality  of  Lord  Halifax,  granted 
a  pension  of  about  $1,500.00  per  annum,  and  soon  set  forth  upon 
a  continental  tour  in  order  to  perfect  himself  in  the  modern  lan- 
guages, and  augment  his  qualifications  for  the  diplomatic  service. 

At  Paris  he  met  Boileau  and  Malebianche.  He  travelled  over 
France,  Italy,  Switzerland  and  parts  of  Germany  and  returned  to 
England  after  an  absence  of  nearly  four  years,  only  to  find  his 
pension  discontinued  and  his  friends  bereft  of  power.  For  his 
living  he  was  forced  to  rely  upon  his  pen.  At  this  low  sla-^e  of  his 
fortunes  there  happily  intervened  the  battle  of  Blenheim.  "It 
was  a  famous  victory,"  as  old  Kasper  said,  but  at  the  time  there 
was  apparently  a  woeful  lack  of  British  poets  to  properly  record 
its  fame.  It  was  Addison's  oppo^'tunity.  At  this  juncture  he  was 
approached  by  an  emissary  of  the  government  with  the  request 
that  he  indite  a  few  lines,  in  praise  of  the  great  Duke  of  Marl- 
borough and  his  "famous  victory."  Addison  responded  with  "The 
Campaign,"  a  poem  which  was  at  once  immensely  popular,  but 
which  has  been  preserved  from  oblivion  by  its  one  beautiful  and 
powerful  simile,  wherein  he  likens  Marlborough,  in  the  heat  of 
battle,  to  the  angel  of  the  tempest,  which 

"Rides  in  the  whirlwind  and  directs  the  storm." 

Addison  was  now  safely  and  irrevocably  launched  upon  a  po- 
litical career.  His  pohtical  faction  not  only  lauded  him  as  the 
greatest  of  living  poets,  but  showered  him  with  official  prefer- 
ments as  well.  In  his  short  but  brilliant  life — for  he  died  at 
forty-seven — he  held  the  office  of  Under-Secretary  of  State,  Sec- 

224 


ADDISON  225 

retary  of  State,  was  twice  Secretary  of  Ireland,  and  for  many 
years  sat  as  a  member  of  Parliament.  His  popularity  did  not 
wax  and  wane  with  the  fortunes  of  his  political  party,  but  con- 
tinued to  the  end  of  his  life.    And  the  reason  is  not  far  to  seek. 

It  is  difficult  to  imagine  a  more  equable  temperament  than 
that  of  Joseph  Addison.  Whether  we  find  him  immersed  in  prob- 
lems of  international  politics,  winning  or  losing  pohtical  cam- 
paigns, writing  tragedies  or  Latii:  verses,  whiling  away  an  eve- 
ning with  friends  over  a  social  bottle  at  Button's,  or  busying  him- 
self with  plans  for  the  "Spectator,"  he  was  ever  the  serene  and 
gentle  spirit  that  still  gleams  in  the  pages  of  his  essays.  Neither 
the  envenomed  jealousy  of  Pope  nor  the  petulance  of  Steele, 
neither  the  taunts  of  political  partisans  nor  the  envious  shafts  of 
literary  rivals  could  provoke  his  wrath  or  mar  the  classic  dignity 
of  his  unruffled  poise.  It  is  difficult,  indeed,  to  dissociate  the  per- 
sonality of  Addison  from  his  essays.  He  could  truly  have  said, 
with  Montaigne,  *'I  am  my  essays." 

It  is  as  an  essayist  only  that  we  must  consider  him.  Without 
the  charming  pages  of  the  Spectator,  the  Freeholder,  the  Guardian 
and  the  Tatler,  posterity  would  hardly  concern  itself  about  his 
other  works,  notwithstanding  Boileau's  praise  of  some  of  his 
verses,  and  notwithstanding  Voltaire's  opinion  that  Addison's 
"Cato"  ranks  above  the  tragedies  of  Shakespeare. 

Addison  made  morality  fashionable.  That  was  his  great 
achievement.  In  the  words  of  Taine,  "For  the  first  time,  Addison 
reconciled  virtue  with  elegance,  taught  duty  in  an  accomplished 
style,  and  made  pleasure  subservient  to  reason."  The  style  of  the 
essays,  for  the  purposes  intended,  is  inimitible.  It  is  wanting  in 
that  fire  and  spirit  which  the  French  call  "verve."  It  does  not 
possess  the  rugged  strength  which  distinguishes  Lessing  among 
the  Germans.  It  is  not  so  polemical  as  that  of  either  Milton  or 
Macaulay.  Yet  in  his  chosen  field  and  upon  his  own  ground,  ther*^ 
are  few  prose  writers,  in  any  language,  who  may  be  regarded  as 
superior  to  Joseph  Addison. 

Addison  intrigues  the  reader  by  his  ingratiating  courtesy, 
his  polite  deference,  his  broad  humanity,  his  uniform  civility.  He 
can,  upon  occasion,  be  archly  politic.    His  piquant  grace,  his  tact- 


226  ADDISON 

ful,  gliding  elegance,  his  moderation  and  calmness,  are  resources 
which  never  fail ;  while,  over  all  his  harmonious  phrasing,  his  bal- 
anced sentences,  and  the  purling  suavity  of  his  rounded  periods, 
there  are  suffused  the  rosy  lights  of  a  modest  gayety,  a  sweet 
reasonableness,  an  urbane  sanity,  which  weave  a  captivating 
spell.  In  this  fashion  did  Addison  lead  his  generation  to  higher 
literary  levels  than  it  had  known  before,  while  divorcing  literature 
from  vice.  Every  reader  is  familiar  with  Samuel  Johnson's  fam- 
ous pronouncement,  in  his  Lives  of  the  Poets :  "Whoever  wishes 
to  attain  an  English  style,  familiar,  but  not  course,  and  elegant, 
but  not  ostentatious,  must  give  his  days  and  nights  to  the  volum.es 
of  Addison."  Macaulay  deslared  that  ''His  best  essays  approach 
near  to  absolute  perfection,  nor  is  their  excellence  more  wonderful 

than  their  variety As  a  moral  satirist  he  stands  unrivalled. 

If  ever  the  best  Tatlers  and  Spectators  were  equalled  in  their  own 
kind,  we  should  be  inclined  to  guess  that  it  must  have  been  by  th^ 
lost  comedies  of  Menander.  If  we  wish  to  find  anything  more 
vivid  than  Addison's  best  portraits,  we  must  go  either  to  Shak**- 
speare  or  to  Cervantes." 

Two  of  Addison's  shorter  poems  are  of  unusual  quality.  Bo*^h 
are  profoundly  religious  in  sentiment.  The  first  is  an  ode  of  grati- 
tude for  his  safe  return  from  his  continental  tour.  We  shall  quf»te 
but  a  single  stanza : 

"How  are  thy  servants  blest,  0  Lord! 

How  sure  is  their  defense ! 
Eternal  wisdom  is  their  guide. 

Their  help  Omnipotence." 

The  poet  Robert  Burns  said,  in  a  letter  to  Dr.  Moore,  that  this  was 
the  first  poem  he  ever  knew,  and  he  describes  its  powerful  effect 
upon  his  childish  fancy.  The  other  famous  ode  of  Addison's  is 
the  well-known  hymn,  beginning 

"The  spacious  firmament  on  high." 

His  Christian  optimism  is  disclosed  in  the  following  excerpt 
from  No.  381  of  the  Spectator:  "An  inward  cheerfulness  is  an  im- 


ADDISON  227 

plicit  praise  and  thanksgiving  to  Providence  under  all  its  dispen- 
sations. It  is  a  kind  of  acquiescence  in  the  state  wherein  we  are 
placed,  and  a  secret  approbation  of  the  Divine  Will  in  his  conduct 
towards  man."  After  studying  these  beautiful  essays,  and  the 
still  more  beautiful  character  of  their  author,  one  is  impelled  to 
exclaim,  with  Thackeray:  "Commend  me  to  this  dear  preacher 
without  orders,  this  parson  in  the  tie-wig.  When  this  man  looks 
from  the  world  whose  weakness  he  describes  so  benevolently  up 
to  the  Heaven  which  shines  over  us  all,  I  can  hardly  fancy  a 
human  face  lighted  up  with  a  more  serene  rapture,  a  human  in- 
tellect thrilling  with  purer  love  and  adoration  than  Joseph  Addi- 
son." 


V. 
POPE. 

From  the  age  of  Milton  to  that  of  Byron  the  greatest  name 
in  English  poesy  is  that  of  Alexander  Pope.  Thackeray  calls  him 
"one  of  the  greatest  literary  artists  England  has  seen." 

Born  in  1688,  his  life  of  forty-six  years  was  a  struggle  with 
almost  every  adverse  condition  which  could  possibly  beset  the 
human  frame.  He  was  a  life-long  invalid.  In  physical  stature  he 
was  almost  a  dwarf,  being  but  four  feet  in  height.  He  was  so 
frail  as  to  be  unable  to  dress  himself  without  assistance.  In  ad- 
dition to  these  physical  handicaps  he  was  born  and  reared  a  Ro- 
man Catholic,  and  was  thus,  by  the  harsh  laws  of  the  time,  de- 
barred from  public  office  and  from  many  lucrative  professions. 
But  one  career  was  open  to  him,  and  that  was  literature.  For 
it  he  sedulously  prepared  himself.  He  was  almost  entirely  self- 
educated,  never  having  attended  school  after  his  twelfth  year. 

Pope's  compositions  are  all  models  of  meticulous  care.  No 
author,  before  or  since  his  day,  has  worked  harder  to  subject  every 
sentence  to  the  highest  degree  of  polish.  He  overlooks  nothing. 
He  leaves  nothing  undone  to  impart  the  keenest  brilliance  and  the 
most  perfect  balance  to  each  line  and  stanza  of  his  work.  He  is, 
therefore,  as  Johnson  says,  "read  with  perpetual  delight." 

Says  Taine,  the  French  critic,  discussing  the  youthful  tri- 
umphs of  Pope:  "At  sixteen,  his  pastorals  bore  witness  to  a 
correctness  which  no  one  had  possessed,  not  even  Dryden.  To 
read  these  choice  words,  these  exquisite  arrangements  of  syllables, 
this  science  of  division  and  rejection,  this  style  so  fluent  and  pure, 
these  graceful  images  rendered  still  more  graceful  by  the  diction, 
and  all  this  artificial  and  many-tinted  garden  of  flowers  which  he 
called  pastoral,  people  thought  of  the  first  eclogues  of  Virgil.  *  *  * 
When  later  they  appeared  in  one  volume,  the  public  was  dazzled. 
The  same  year  the  poet  of  twenty-one  finished  his  Essay  on 

228 


POPE  229 

Criticism,  a  sort  of  Ars  Poetica.  It  is  the  kind  of  a  poem  a  man 
might  write  at  the  end  of  his  career,  when  he  has  handled  all 
modes  of  writing,  and  has  grown  gray  in  criticism;  and  in  this 
subject,  whose  treatment  demands  a  whole  literary  life,  he  was 
in  an  instant  as  ripe  as  Boileau."  In  this  poem,  says  Dr.  Johnson, 
Pope  has  given  us  "the  finest  simile  in  our  language:" 

"Hills  peep  o'er  hills,  and  Alps  on  Alps  arise." 

From  the  same  poem  the  follownig  well-known  lines  are  taken: 

"Good  nature  and  good  sense  must  ever  :Toin: 
•    To  err  is  human ;  to  forgive,  divine." 

Pope's  Epistle  from  Eloisa  to  Abelard,  the  most  notable  of 
his  poems  of  passion  and  tenderness,  was  received  with  a  burst 
of  enthusiasm.  In  it  "the  beauty  of  his  imagery  and  descriptions, 
the  exquisite  melody  of  his  versification,  rising  and  falling  like 
the  tones  of  an  Eolian  harp,  have  never  been  surpassed."  Johnson 
declared  it  among  "the  happiest  productions  of  the  human  mind." 
It  was  rapturously  praised  by  De  Quincey  and  others.  Lord  Byron 
preferred  it  to  the  famous  ode  of  Sappho.  A  few  lines  will  indi- 
cate the  trilling,  harmonic  sweetness  of  the  poem.  At  the  close 
of  the  portrait  of  the  innocent  nun,  she  is  made  to  say : 

"How  happy  is  the  blameless  vestal's  lot ! 

The  world  forgetting,  by  the  world  forgot: 

Eternal  sunshine  of  the  spotless  mind ! 

Each  prayer  accepted,  and  each  wish  resigned ; 

Labor  and  rest,  that  equal  periods  keep; 

Obedient  slumbers  that  can  wake  and  weep ; 

Desires  composed,  affections  ever  even; 

Tears  that  delight,  and  sighs  that  waft  to  heav'n. 

Grace  shines  around  her,  with  serenest  beams, 

And  whisp'ring  angels  prompt  her  golden  dreams. 

For  her  th'  unfading  rose  of  Eden  blooms, 


230  POPE 

And  wings  of  seraphs  shed  divine  perfumes; 
For  her  the  Spouse  prepares  the  bridal  ring, 
For  her  white  virgins  hymeneals  sing; 
To  sounds  of  heavenly  harps  she  dies  away, 
And  melts  in  visions  of  eternal  day." 

Of  Pope's  Rape  of  the  Lock,  considered  the  greatest  master- 
piece of  the  sprightly  style,  Leslie  Stephen  said :  "No  more  bril- 
liant, sparkling,  vivacious  trifle  is  to  be  found  in  our  literature." 
It  is  probably  the  greatest  mock-heroic  poem  in  any  language. 
"It  is,"  says  Johnson,  "the  most  airy,  the  most  ingenious,  and  the 
most  delightful  of  all  Pope's  compositions." 

At  the  age  of  twenty-five  Pope  began  his  translation  of 
Homer.  He  was  already  rated  as  the  greatest  living  poet.  The 
six  volumes  of  the  Illiad  were  published  during  the  years  1715- 
1720.  This  publication  rendered  his  fame  secure,  and  placed  him 
an  immeasurable  distance  above  and  beyond  all  poets  then  living 
in  England.  Pope's  Homer  lacks  fidelity  to  the  original  text,  but, 
for  all  that,  Johnson  called  it  "the  noblest  version  of  poetry  the 
world  has  ever  seen."  Gray  predicted  that  no  other  translation 
would  ever  equal  it.  Byron  said  that  as  a  boy  he  read  it  with 
rapture,  and  that  no  one  would  ever  put  it  aside  except  for  the 
original.  From  this  work  Pope  reaped  a  profit  of  about  $40,000. 
He  had  now  gained  both  means  and  leisure  to  conduct  his  war  on 
the  Dunces.  Pope  was  of  a  nervous,  suspicious  and  irritable  na- 
ture, given  to  introspection,  his  morbid  mind  naturally  dwelling 
upon  fancied  injuries,  and  he  decided,  once  for  all,  to  even  up  all 
scores  with  his  literary  rivals.  In  this  design  he  was  encouraged 
by  his  ardent  though  indiscreet  friend  Dean  Swift,  himself  the 
greatest  satirist  of  the  time,  and  to  whom  the  Dunciad  was  dedi- 
cated. The  poem  abounds  in  sharp  and  cutting  thrusts  and  dis- 
plays a  wealth  of  genius  worthy  of  a  far  better  purpose.  But 
the  keenest  and  most  finished  bit  of  satire  Pope  e\er  wrote  was 
the  malevolent  but  powerful  characterization  of  Addison,  which 
appeared  in  the  prologue  to  the  Satires,  and  in  which  he  said  that 
Addison  could 


POPE  231 

"Damn  with  faint  praise,  assent  with  civil  leer, 
And,  without  sneering,  teach  the  rest  to  sneer." 

Pope's  Essay  on  Man  is  possibly  the  work  with  which  the 
majority  of  his  readers  are  most  familiar.  Ii  is  bhiiiani  in  s^-yle 
and  finish,  and  rich  in  epigram.  There  is  nothing  exactly  like  it 
elsewhere.  It  abounds  in  popukr  passages,  and  among  the  most 
familiar  are  these  lines : 

"Vice  is  a  monster  of  such  horrid  mien. 
As  to  be  hated  needs  but  to  be  seen ; 
Yet  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  her  face. 
We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace." 

And  these: 

"Hope  springs  eternal  in  the  human  breast ; 
Man  never  is,  but  always  to  be  blest." 

And  this  familiar  couplet : 

"Know  then  thyself,  presume  not  God  to  scan; 
The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man." 

This  work,  with  its  doctrine  that  "whatever  is,  is  right,"  to- 
gether with  its  numerous  philosophical  speculations,  drew  replies 
from  Voltaire  in  France,  from  Lessing  in  Germany,  and  from 
Crousaz,  a  Swiss  philosopher. 

In  his  introductions  and  prefaces.  Pope  often  displays  great 
power  as  a  writer  of  lucid  prose,  as  well  as  a  vast  critical  insight. 
Thus,  in  the  preface  to  his  translation  of  Homer,  he  says :  "Homer 
was  the  greater  genius ;  Virgil,  the  better  artist ;  in  the  one,  we 
most  admire  the  m.an:  in  the  other,  the  work.  Homer  hurries  us 
with  a  commanding  impetuosity ;  Virgil  leads  us  with  an  attractive 
majesty.  Homer  scatters  with  a  generous  profusion;  Virgil  be- 
stows with  a  careful  magnificence.  Homer,  like  the  Nile,  pours 
out  his  riches  with  a  sudden  overflow;  Virgil,  like  a  river  in  its 
banks,  with  a  constant  stream.  And  when  we  look  upon  their 
machines,  Homer  seems  like  his  own  Jupiter,  in  his  terrors,  shak- 


232  POPE 

ing  Olympus,  scattering  the  lightnings,  and  firing  the  heavens; 
Virgil,  like  the  same  power,  in  his  benevolence,  counselling  with 
the  gods,  laying  plans  for  empires,  and  ordering  his  whole  crea- 
tion." It  is  doubtful  if  any  critic,  ancient  or  modern,  has  so  splen- 
didly and  succinctly  compared  the  two  great  epic  masters  of 
antiquity. 

Pope's  imitations  of  Horace  are  among  the  most  delightful 
of  his  creations,  and  are  quite  as  charming  as  the  original.  Among 
his  shorter  poems  his  Universal  Prayer  is  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful.   Nothing  can  be  finer  than  this : 

"Teach  me  to  feel  another's  wo, 

To  hide  the  fault  I  see: 
That  mercy  I  to  others  show, 

That  mercy  show  to  me."  • 

He  wrote  too  little  in  this  simple  strain.  This  poem  and  an 
ode.  The  Dying  Christian  to  His  Soul  (written  at  the  request  of 
Steele) ,  show  Pope  at  the  height  of  his  lyric  power.  They  breathe 
forth  a  solemn  purity,  a  noble  tenderness  and  a  softened,  subdued 
and  modest  dignity  so  deeply  consonant  to  the  sweet  serenity  of 
prayer. 

In  his  fifty-sixth  year,  after  a  life  of  strife  and  pain.  Pope 
passed  away  so  peacefully  that  the  watchers  at  his  bedside  could 
not  distinguish  the  moment  of  his  death;  so  peacefully,  indeed, 
that  it  seemed  as  if  the  powers  of  nature,  hushed  in  the  presence 
of  expiring  genius,  had  obeyed  the  behest  of  his  own  beautiful  ode : 

"Cease,  fond  natuie,  cease  thy  strife, 
And  let  me  languish  into  life !" 


VI. 

4 

BYRON. 

Lord  George  Gordon  Byron,  the  foremost  English  poet  since 
Alexander  Pope,  is  pre-eminently  the  great  revolutionary  poet  of 
modern  times. 

Born  in  1788,  just  as  the  wave  of  revolution  was  threatening 
to  submerge  all  nations  in  its  mighty  sweep,  he  reached  maturity 
at  the  close  of  the  so-called  Napoleonic  wars,  when  his  precocious 
love  of  liberty  and' his  inborn  sense  of  justice  were  rudely  shocked 
to  behold  a  world  shackled  in  the  meshes  of  the  Holy  Alliance  and 
writhing  hopelessly  in  the  gyves  of  tyranny,  stupidity  and  cant. 

The  publication  (at  the  age  of  nineteen)  of  his  "Hours  of 
Idleness"  having  evoked  an  exasperating  criticism  in  the  Edin- 
burg  Review,  Byron  rephed  with  his  stinging  "English  Bards  and 
Scotch  Reviewers,"  in  the  year  1809,  and  in  the  same  year  de- 
parted for  a  tour  of  the  Mediterranean  countries.  He  returned 
in  two  years,  and  at  once  published  the  first  two  cantos  of  "The 
Pilgrimage  of  Childe  Harold."  His  reputation  w^as  thus  imme- 
diately estabhshed,  at  the  early  age  of  twenty-two.  In  his  own 
words,  "I  woke  to  find  myself  famous."  In  the  next  four  years 
he  published  "The  Corsair,"  "The  Siege  of  Corinth,"  and  a  num- 
ber of  other  metrical  tales  which  greatly  increased  his  fame.  And 
then,  in  1815,  he  married.  His  troubles  now  began.  Within  a 
year  his  wife  left  him,  nobody  knew  exactly  why.  Gossip  busied 
itself  with  mendacious  tales.  Churlish  mediocrity,  Puritan 
prudery,  snobbishness  and  cant,  with  their  maudlin  blubberings, 
perceived  their  chance.  Slander  unleashed  its  envemoned  dart. 
They  drove  forth  the  proud  spirit  they  could  not  bend,  and  they 
made  his  name  a  byword  and  an  hissing  among  the  people.  In 
1816  he  left  England  to  return  no  more. 

He  now  had  but  eight  more  years  to  live.  But  they  were 
busy  years— years  crowded  with  great  works,  such  as  "The  Pri- 

'233 


234  BYRON 

soner  of  Chillon,"  "Manfred,"  "Mazappa,"  "Don  Juan,"  the  last 
two  cantos  of  "Childe  Harold"  ard  indeed,  the  greater  part  of  his 
life's  work.  Yet  we  are  solemnly  told  that  the  period  of  his  volun- 
tary exile  was  a  period  of  almost  total  depravity,  a  riot  of  unre- 
strained dissipation.  The  marvel  is  that  so  vast  a  volume  of 
wonderful  creations  could  have  proceeded  from  a  single  pen  in  so 
short  a  time.  But  his  enemies  have  preferred  to  slight  his  crea- 
tions and  magnify  his  recreations. 

Lord  Macaulay,  who  is  usually  wise  even  when  he  cannot  be 
Just,  is  neither  wise  nor  just  in  his  estimate  of  Byron.  "And  a 
few  years  more  will  destroy  whatever  yet  remains  of  that  magical 
potency  which  once  belonged  to  the  name  of  Byron,"  he  wrote,  in 
1830.  But  Matthew  Arnold  wrote,  in  1881,  of  Byron  and  Words- 
worth :  "When  the  year  1900  is  turned,  and  our  nation  comes  to 
recount  her  poetic  glories  in  the  century  which  has  then  just 
ended,  the  first  names  with  her  will  be  these."  English  critics  in 
general,  have  not  comprehended  Byron  as  have  the  greatest  intel- 
lects of  other  lands.  The  Frenchman,  Taine,  observes  that  "all 
styles  appear  dull  beside  his,"  and  that  "he  is  so  great  that  from 
him  alone  we  shall  learn  more  truths  of  his  country  than  from  all 
the  rest  combined."  Taine  says  that  Byron's  "Manfred"  is  "twin- 
brother  to  the  greatest  poem  of  the  age,  Goethe's  Faust."  Goethe 
said  of  Byron :  "The  English  caf  show  no  poet  who  is  to  be  com- 
pared with  him I  cannot  enough  admire  his  genius." 

Goethe  advised  Eckermann  to  learn  English  only  to  read  Byron, 
and  added:  "A  character  of  such  eminence  has  never  existed 
before,  and  will  probably  never  come  again.  Tasso's  epic  has 
maintained  its  fame,  but  Byron  is  the  burning  bush  which  reduces 
the  cedar  of  Lebanon  to  ashes."  Taine  concludes:  "If  Goethe 
was  the  poet  of  the  universe  Byron  was  the  poet  of  the  individual ; 
and  if,  in  one,  German  genius  found  its  interpreter,  the  English 
genius  found  its  interpreter  in  the  other." 

From  the  verdict  of  Goethe  and  Taine  there  is  no  dissent  on 
the  continent  of  Europe.  "What,"  asks  Castelar,  "does  Spain  not 
owe  to  Byron?  From  his  mouth  came  our  hopes  and  fears.  He 
has  baptized  us  with  his  blood.  There  is  no  one  with  whose  being 
some  song  of  his  is  not  woven."    Dr.  Karl  EIze,  an  authority  on 


BYRON  235 

the  English  classics,  who  held  the  chair  of  EngHsh  literature  in 
the  University  of  Halle,  names  Byron  as  one  of  the  four  greatest 
poets  of  England,  and  also  marks  him  as  the  intellectual  parent 
of  Lamartine  and  Musset  in  France,  of  EsDronceda  in  Spain,  of 
Puschkin  in  Russia,  of  Heine  in  Germany,  and  of  Berchet  in  Italy. 

The  great  Italian  Giuseppe  Mazzini,  in  one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful essays  he  has  given  to  the  world,  discusses  and  compares 
Byron  and  Goethe. 

"Never  did  'the  eternal  spirit  of  the  chainless  mind'  make  a 
brighter  apparition  amongst  us,"  he  says  of  Byron.  *'He  seems  at 
times  a  transformation  of  that  immortal  Prometheus,  of  whom  he 
has  written  so  nobly ;  whose  cry  of  agony,  yet  of  futurity,  sounded 
above  the  cradle  of  the  European  world;  and  whose  grand  and 
mysterious  form,  transfigured  by  time,  reappears  from  age  to  age, 
between  the  entombment  of  on?  epoch  and  the  accession  of  an- 
other, to  wail  forth  the  lament  of  genius,  tortured  by  the  presenti- 
ment of  things  it  will  not  see  realized  in  its  time When 

he  heard  the  cry  of  nationality  and  liberty  burst  forth  in  the 
land  he  had  loved  and  sung  in  early  youth,  he  broke  his  harp  and 
set  forth.  While  the  Christian  Powers  were  protocolizing  or 
worse — while  the  Christian  nations  were  doling  forth  the  alms 
of  a  few  piles  of  ball  in  aid  of  the  Cross  struggling  with  the  Cres- 
cent, he,  the  poet,  and  pretended  skeptic,  hastened  to  throw  his 
fortune,  his  genius,  and  his  life  at  the  feet  of  the  first  people  that 
had  arisen  in  the  name  of  the  nationality  and  liberty  he  loved.  .  .  . 

"The  day  will  come  when  democracy  will  remember  all  that 
it  owes  to  Byron.  England,  too,  will,  I  hope,  one  day  remember 
the  mxission — so  entire  English,  yet  hitherto  overlooked  by  her — 
which  Byron  fulfilled  on  the  Continent;  the  European  role  given 
by  him  to  English  literature,  and  the  appreciation  and  sympathy 
for  England  which  he  awakened  amongst  us. 

"Before  he  came,  all  that  was  known  of  English  literature 
was  the  French  translation  of  Shakespeare,  and  the  anathema 
hurled  by  Voltaire  against  the  'intoxicated  barbarian.'  It  is  since 
Byron  that  we  Continentalists  have  learned  to  study  Shakespeare 

and  other  English  writers England  will  one  day  feel  how 

ill  it  is — not  for  Byron  but  for  herself — that  the  foreigner  who 


236  BYRON 

stands  upon  her  shores  should  search  in  vain  in  that  temple  which 
should  be  her  national  Pantheon,  for  the  poet  beloved  and  admired 
by  all  the  nations  of  Europe,  and  for  whose  death  Greece  and  Italy 
wept  as  it  had  been  the  noblest  of  their  own  sons." 

Mazzini's  rebuke  is  but  too  well  deserved.  When  Byron,  at 
Missolonghi,  in  1824,  had  given  his  life  for  Greece,  the  Greek 
chieftains  desired  that  he  should  sleep  in  the  Temple  of  Theseus, 
at  Athens.  English  friends,  however,  preferred  that  he  should 
rest  with  the  poets  in  Westminster  Abbey.  But  when  the  body 
arrived  in  England  the  Dean  of  Westminster  closed  the  doors  of 
the  English  Pantheon  against  the  ashes  of  the  noblest  English- 
man of  the  nineteenth  century,  and  the  funeral  precession  moved 
sadly  northward  to  Newstead  Abbey,  the  ancestral  seat  of  the 
poet's  family. 

"When  I  was  a  boy  I  read  Byron's  Prisoner  of  Chillon.  From 
that  hour  I  have  hated  oppression  in  all  its  forms."  The  speaker 
was  a  United  States  Senator,  William  Joel  Stone.  The  incident 
is  recalled  as  showing  the  world-wide  influence  of  the  great  Eng- 
lish poet  who  revered  Washington,  admired  Franklin,  eulogized 
Daniel  Boone,  referred  to  Patrick  Henry  as  "the  forest-born 
Domesthenes,"  and  who  said:  "'Give  me  a  republic.  The  king- 
times  are  fast  vanishing;  there  will  be  blood  shed  like  water  and 
tears  like  mist,  but  the  peoples  will  conquer  in  the  end.  I  shall 
not  live  to  see  it;  but  I  foresee  it."  In  the  "Chillon"  poem,  in 
"Prometheus,"  and,  indeed,  wherever  innocence  and  virtue  tremble 
in  the  clutch  of  tyrannic  power,  Byron  shows  unfeigned  sympathy 
for  those  who  suffer  and  are  cast  down.  Always  and  everywhere 
in  the  strife  between  freedom  and  autocracy,  Byron  is  the  friend 
of  man. 

Taine  regards  "Don  Juan"  as  Byron's  masterpiece.  But  that, 
we  suspect,  is  only  a  characteristically  French  judgment.  There 
are  brilliant  passages  in  all  his  poems.  And  there  is  very  little  of 
his  work  that  fails  to  sustain  the  reader's  interest.  This  is  espe- 
cially true  of  Childe  Harold.  Everywhere  are  sunbursts  of  genius 
which  light  his  pages  with  a  glow  that  dims  not  with  the  lapse, 
of  time.  Byron  abounds  in  the  sublime  and  beautiful.  He  may; 
not  be  always  correct.    Nor  is  the  diapason  of  the  tempest  always 


BYRON  237 

correct,  when  measured  by  the  musical  scale;  but  it  drives  it:^ 
message  home.  And  so  does  Byron  speak  in  words  that  cause 
the  blood  to  mount,  whether  he  voice  the  passions  of  the  heart 
or  paint  the  splendors  of  the  storm.  There  is  in  him,  as  Swin- 
burne said,  "the  splendid  and  imperishable  excellence  which  covers 
all  his  offenses  and  outweighs  all  his  defects;  the  excellence  nf 
sincerity  and  strength." 

Byron  struck  the  note  of  grandeur  and  sublimity  as  it  was 
struck  by  no  other  English  poet  excepting  Milton.  His  apostrophe 
to  the  ocean,  at  the  end  of  Childe  Harold,  is  an  example  of  this 
quality  which  is  unsurpassed  in  any  language.  His  description  of 
Waterloo,  in  the  third  canto  of  this  poem,  stands  alone.  Beside 
it  all  other  descriptions  are  colorless  and  mute.  According  to 
Longinus,  the  primary  source  of  the  sublime  in  writing  is  boldness 
and  grandeur  of  thought.  In  this  respect,  Byron  will  not  suffer 
in  comparison  with  Homer  or  the  Hebrew  Scriptures.  Consider, 
for  example,  his  "Destruction  of  Sennacherib,"  closing  with  the?e 
lines: 

"And  the  might  of  the  Gentile,  unsmote  by  the  sword, 
Has  melted  like  snow  in  the  glance  of  the  Lord." 

Or  his  "Darkness" : 

"I  had  a  dream,  which  was  not  all  a  dream. 

The  bright  sun  was  extinguished,  and  the  stars 

Did  wander  darkhng  in  the  eternal  space, 

Rayless,  and  pathless,  and  the  icy  earth 

Swung  bhnd  and  blackening  in  the  moonless  air,"  etc 

Similar  examples  could  be  adduc'.-d  without  number.  So  powerful 
has  been  the  appeal  of  the  awful  and  the  supernatural  in  Byron 
that  he  has  been  often  called  the  poet  of  gloom,  of  melancholy,  of 
hopeless  woe.  But  such  critics  overlook  both  "Beppo"  and  "Don 
Juan." 

And  there  is  another  side  of  Byron,  neither  awe-inspiring 
and  terrible,  nor  frivolous  and  amusing,  but  of  surpassing  lyrical 
beauty,  sweetness  and  grace,  such  as  "Fair  Thee  Well,"  "She 


238  BYRON 

Walks  in  Beauty,"  "Know  Ye  the  Land,"  "The  Isles  of  Greece," 
"Maid  of  Athens,"  and  other  poems  of  like  character.  Sir  Walter 
Scott  has  truly  said :  "As  various  in  composition  as  Shakespeare 
himself,  Lord  Byron  has  embraced  every  type  of  human  life,  and 
sounded  every  string  on  the  divine  harp,  from  its  slightest  to  its 
most  powerful  and  heart-astounding  tones." 

Byron  was  versed  in  Latin  and  Greek,  and  translated  from 
both  languages.  He  was  master  of  Italian  and  French,  but  knew 
little  of  Spanish  and  no  German.  Of  Goethe,  who  knew  and  un- 
derstood him  so  well,  he  himself  says  that  he  knew  nothing  ex- 
cepting a  part  of  Faust  which  was  read  to  him  and  orally  trans- 
lated by  a  friend.  He  adored  Alexander  Pope  almost  to  the  point 
of  fanaticism,  detested  Wordsworth,  and  was  a  devoted  admirer 
of  Dante,  Tasso  and  the  other  Italian  immortals — preferring  Tasso 
to  Milton. 

As  we  are  unable  to  trace  Byron  to  any  particular  model,  so 
also,  are  we  unable  to  point  to  his  successor.  Like  Dante,  he  rules 
alone.  Like  the  lightning  from  the  cloud  he  came,  and  to  the 
stormy  elements  he  has  returned.  He  has  burned  his  way  into 
the  hearts  of  men,  and  his  fame  will  last  while  literature  endures. 


i 


VII. 

SCOTT. 

Sir  Walter  Scott,  the  founder  of  the  historical  novel,  and 
composer  of  some  of  the  most  stirring  and  beautiful  martial 
poetry  ever  written  in  the  British  isles,  was  born  in  Edinburgh, 
August  15,  1771,  the  son  of  a  Scotch  lawyer.  Young  Scott  was 
called  to  the  bar  in  1792,  and  carried  on  a  desultory  practice  for 
fourteen  years,  but  was  at  no  time  wedded  to  his  profession. 

Scott  was  thoroughly  conversant  with  Spanish,  French,  Ital- 
ian and  German.  He  first  became  seriously  interested  in  litera- 
ture through  his  study  of  German.  His  first  publication  was  a 
translation,  in  1796,  of  two  of  Burger's  ballads.  In  1799  he  pub- 
lished his  translation  of  Goethe's  "Goetz  von  Berhchingen."  From 
his  early  youth  Scott  had  been  a  student  of  the  ballad.  In  1802, 
at  the  age  of  thirty-one,  he  gave  to  the  world  his  "Border  Min- 
strelsy," which  gained  for  him  immediate  popularity.  With  the 
publication  of  "The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  in  1805,  he  became 
the  most  popular  poet  of  the  day.  "Marmion"  followed  in  1808, 
and  "The  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  in  1810.  His  later  poetical  works 
were  not  so  well  received.  In  1814  the  first  of  his  novels,  "Waver- 
ly,"  appeared,  followed  by  that  incomparable  succession  of  ro- 
mances during  the  next  eighteen  years,  which  made  their  author 
the  most  popular  prose  writer  in  all  the  world.  He  continued  to 
write  until  his  paralytic  hand  could  no  longer  grasp  the  pen,  and 
death  came  in  1832,  about  six  months  after  the  death  of  Goethe. 

Scott  is  not  among  the  greatest  of  poets,  and  yet  in  his 
greater  poems  there  are  lines  which  will  never  die.  While  love 
of  country  endures  in  the  hearts  of  men,  the  patriot  will  not  for- 
get these  lines  from  the  first  stanza,  Canto  vi.,  of  "The  Lay  nf 
the  Last  Minstrel": 

"Breathes  there  a  man  with  soul  so  dead 

239 


240  SCOTT 

Who  never  to  himself  has  said, 

This  is  my  own,  my  native  land !  ' 

Whose  heart  has  ne'er  within  him  burn'd 
As  home  his  footsteps  he  has  turned 

From  wandering  on  a  foreign  strand  ? 
If  such  there  breatho,  go,  mark  him  well ! 
For  him  no  minstrel  raptures  swell; 
High  though  his  titles,  proud  his  name, 
Boundless  his  wealth  as  wish  can  claim, — 
Despite  those  titles,  power  and  pelf, 
The  wretch,  concentered  all  in  self. 
Living,  shall  forfeit  fair  renown. 
And  doubly  dying,  shall  go  down 
To  the  vile  dust  from  whence  he  sprung, 
Unwep't,  unhonor'd  and  unsung." 

Many  critics  have  thought  "Marmion"  to  be  superior  to  all 
the  other  metrical  creations  of  Scott.  Certainly  no  poem  of  his 
abounds  in  more  fine  passages,  or  has  a  greater  tendency  to  fire 
the  blood.  What  can  be  finer  than  his  description  of  the  castle, 
in  the  first  canto  ? 

"Day  set  on  Norham's  castled  steep, 
And  Tw^eed's  fair  river,  broad  and  deep. 

And  Cheviot's  mountains  lone: 
The  battled  towers,  the  donjon  keep. 
The  loophole  grates,  where  captives  weep, 
The  flanking  walls  that  round  it  sweep, 

In  yellow  luster  shone. 
The  warriors  on  the  turrets  high. 
Moving  athwart  the  evening  sky, 

Seem'd  forms  of  giant  height. 
Their  armor,  as  it  caught  the  rays. 
Flashed  back  again  the  western  blaze, 

In  lines  of  dazzhng  light." 


i 


SCOTT  241 

These  lines,  with  two  succeeding  stanzas,  are  seldom  equalled 
in  descriptive  poetry.  Indeed,  the  entire  poem  abounds  in  beau- 
ties which  so  strike  the  ear  or  touch  the  heart  of  mankind  as  to 
assure  the  immortality  of  the  work.  Such,  for  example,  is  this, 
from  the  sixth  canto: 

"0  Woman !  in  our  hours  of  ease 

Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please. 

And  variable  as  the  shade 

By  the  hght  quivering  aspen  made; 
When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 

A  miinistering  angel  thou." 

Such  lines  may  not  present  the  highest  form  Ox  poetry ;  but, 
nevertheless,  they  cannot  be  forgotten.  It  may  be  doubted  if 
there  was  ever  penned  a  more  stirring  picture  of  a  battle  scene 
than  this,  from  the  same  canto,  stanza  32 : 

"The  war  that  for  a  space  did  fail. 
Now  trebly  thundering  swell'd  the  gale, 

And — Stanley!  was  the  cry; 
A  light  on  Marmion's  visage  spread, 

And  fired  his  glazing  eye: 
With  dying  hand,  above  his  head. 
He  shook  the  fragm.ent  of  his  blade, 

And  shouted  ''Victory! — 
Charge,  Chester,  charge !  On,  Stanley,  on ! 
Were  the  last  words  of  Marmion." 

Mackintosh  says  that  ''The  Lady  of  the  Lake  has  nothing  so 
good  as  the  death  of  Marmion."  But  where  shall  we  find  a  sweeter 
bugle  note  than  the  song  in  the  first  canto  of  The  Lady  of  the 
Lake : 

"Soldier,  rest!  thy  warfare  o'er. 

Sleep  the  sleep  that  know^s  not  breaking; 
Dream  of  battlefields  no  more,"  etc. 


242  SCOTT 

The  Highland  boat  song,  in  the  second  canto,  is  another  mas- 
terpiece. The  famous  battle  scene  in  the  sixth  canto  of  The  Lady 
of  the  Lake  may  be  said  to  at  least  rival  anything  in  Marmion — 
or  elsewhere  in  poetry  of  its  kind.  Particularly  striking  is  the 
18th  stanza.  The  reader  can  almost  hear  the  clash  of  sword  and 
lance,  as  the  cry  rings  out — 

"Where,  where  was  Roderick  then! 
One  blast  upon  his  bugle  horn 

Were  worth  a  thousand  men !" 

Scott  was  inspired  to  write  fiction,  he  tells  us,  by  reading 
the  novels  of  Cervantes.  The  success  of  "Waverly"  was  so  com- 
plete that  Scott  devoted  the  greater  part  of  the  remainder  of  his 
life  to  writing  historical  novels.  Seldom  has  the  world  witnessed 
such  an  unbroken  train  of  literary  successes — Kenilworth,  Old 
Mortality,  Ivanhoe,  Redgauntlet,  Guy  Mannering,  The  Antiquary, 
Rob  Roy — we  need  not  enumerate  the  well  remembered  names. 
A  hundred  years  have  passed,  and  their  hold  upon  the  public 
cannot  yet  be  said  to  be  broken. 

Scott  gained  almost  a  million  dollars  by  his  writings,  and  lost 
it  all.  The  failure  of  his  publis-hers  involved  him  to  the  extent 
of  half  a  million  dollars.  The  last  six  years  of  his  life  were  spent 
in  a  brave  struggle  to  pay  the  debt.  Struggling  against  advanc- 
ing age  and  the  insidious  approach  of  disease,  he  battled  on,  and 
could  he  have  lived  another  ten  years  he  would  have  paid  it  all. 
He  had  earned  nearly  $200,000.00  for  his  creditors,  when  he 
breathed  his  last,  at  his  beloved  Abbottsford,  on  September  15, 
1832. 

Scott  was  the  kindliest  and  most  genial  of  men.  As  one  of 
his  old  Scotch  companions  said  of  him,  "whether  drunk  or  sober, 
he  was  aye  the  gentleman."  He  lived  an  innocent  and  wholesome 
life,  and  he  leaves  no  pi-iinted  word  to  soil  his  memory.  When 
death  approached  he  called  for  Lockhart,  his  son-in-law.  "Lock- 
hart,"  said  he,  "I  may  have  but  a  minute  to  speak  to  you.  My 
dear,  be  a  good  man — be  virtuous — be  religious — be  a  good  man. 
Nothing  else  will  give  you  any  comfort  when  you  come  to  lie 
here." 


VIII. 
WORDSWORTH. 

William  Wordsworth  was  born  in  1770.  He  was  graduated 
from  Cambridge  at  the  age  of  twenty-one.  After  two  visits  to 
Prance,  and  an  attempt  to  take  part  with  the  Girondists  in  the 
French  Revolution,  Wordsworth  returned  to  England  to  spend 
(with  the  exception  of  an  occasional  excursion)  the  remainder 
of  his  uneventful  life  in  the  country,  chiefly  at  Grasmere  and 
Rydal  Mount,  in  the  lake  region.  Early  in  life  he  became  intimate 
with  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge.  The  two  poets  visited  Germany 
in  1799,  where  Coleridge  perfected  himself  in  German  and  began 
his  translation  of  Schiller's  "WUlenstein." 

Wordsworth's  first  volume  was  "Lyrical  Ballads,"  published 
jointly  by  himself  and  Coleridge,  in  1793.  This  volume  marks 
the  beginning  of  the  Romantic  movement  in  English  poetry,  and 
is  epochal  in  its  hterary  significance.  The  volume  contains  Cole- 
ridge's "Ancient  Mariner,"  but  the  greater  portion  of  the  rem.ain- 
der  was  the  work  of  Wordsworth.  The  book  was  republished  in 
1800  and  in  1802.  His  "Ode  to  Duty"  was  brought  out  in  1805, 
and  the  "Ode  on  the  Intimations  of  Immortality"  in  1806.  "The 
Excursion"  and  "Laodamia"  were  published  in  1814.  Other  poems 
followed  at  intervals  during  the  next  twenty  years.  He  wrote 
practically  nothing  during  the  last  fifteen  years  of  his  life.  When 
Southey  died,  in  1843,  Wordsworth  was  appointed  Poet  Lau- 
reate, an  honor  which  he  at  first  refused  and  was  with  difficulty 
induced  to  accept.    Seven  years  later  he  died,  at  the  age  of  eighty. 

For  at  least  a  quarter  of  a  century,  and  during  the  period  in 
which  he  was  producing  his  best  work,  Wordsworth  was  obliged 
to  endure  the  combined  assault  of  all  the  great  critics  in  England 
and  Scotland,  besides  the  scorn  of  the  majority  of  the  poets  of 
his  day.  But  his  faith  in  himself,  in  his  work,  and  in  his  mission, 
at  no  time  faltered.     He  cared  nothing  for  praise  or  blame,  and 

243 


244  WORDSWORTH 

seldom  read  any  of  the  criticisms  of  his  works. 

Wordsworth  was  no  great  lover  of  books.  But  his  love  of 
nature  amounted  to  an  infatuation.  His  love  of  rocks  and  lakes 
and  flowers  and  trees  was  almost  as  vehement  and  personal  as 
that  which  is  recorded  of  St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  in  Section  XH.  of 
"The  Mirror  of  Perfection."  Nearly  the  whole  of  his  long  life 
was  devoted  to  the  serene  contemplation  of  nature's  grandeur 
and  beauty,  and  to  companionship  with  the  elements.  Far  from 
the  busy  haunts  of  men,  drinking  in  the  splendors  of  the  sunset 
or  the  glories  of  the  dawn,  weaving  his  dreams  among  the  flitting 
clouds,  claiming  comradship  with  the  mountains  and  the  stars, 
with  ear  attuned  alike  to  the  carol  of  the  lark  or  the  whisper  of 
the  leaf,  Wordsworth  knew  and  loved  the  natural  world  as  no 
other  English  poet  ever  did.  And  it  is  this  love  and  this  knowl- 
edge which  gleam,  in  all  his  works,  with  an  intensity  which  draws 
his  devotees  as  if  obsessed  by  a  spell,  and  makes  of  his  following 
a  cult.  "The  very  image  of  Wordsworth,"  writes  De  Quincey,  for 
example,  "as  I  prefigured  it  to  my  own  planet-struck  eye,  crushed 
my  faculties  as  before  Ehjah  or  St.  Paul." 

As  Mathew  Arnold  says  (Essays  in  Criticism),  "Words- 
worth's poetry  is  great  because  of  the  extraordinary  power  with 
which  Wordsworth  feels  the  joy  offered  to  us  in  nature,  the  joy 
offered  to  us  in  the  simple  primary  affections  and  duties;  and 
because  of  the  extraordinary  power  with  v/hich,  in  case  after 
case,  he  shows  us  this  joy  and  renders  it  so  as  to  make  us  share 
it."  But  when  Dr.  Arnold,  in  the  same  essay,  places  Wordsworth 
before  all  English  poets  excepting  Milton  and  Shakespeare,  before 
all  the  French  since  Moliere,  before  all  the  Germans  excepting 
Goethe,  and  before  all  the  Italians  since  the  sixteenth  century, 
he  goes  farther  than  many  judicious  critics  will  care  to  accom- 
panj^  him. 

Saintsbury  declares  that  the  greater  odes  of  Wordsworth  are 
unsurpassed  by  any  poet,  not  even  excepting  Milton.  It  is  in  his 
odes  and  sonnets,  indeed,  that  Wordsworth  strikes  the  majestic 
note  which  places  him  far  above  the  majority  of  the  poets  of 
his  time.  Of  these  splendid  productions  the  following  sonnet  is 
an  example: 


WORDSWORTH  245 

"The  world  is  too  much  with  us:  late  and  soon, 
Getting  and  spending,  we  lay  waste  our  powers: 
Little  we  see  in  naturo  that  is  ours ; 
We  have  given  our  hearts  away,  a  sordid  boon ! 
The  Sea  that  bares  her  bosom  to  the  moon ; 
The  winds  that  will  be  howling  at  all  hours, 
And  are  up-gathered  now  like  sleeping  flowers; 
For  this,  for  everything,  we  are  out  of  tune ; 
It  moves  us  not. — Great  God !    I'd  rather  be 
A  Pagan  suckled  in  a  creed  outworn ; 
So  might  I,  standing  on  this  pleasant  lea, 
Have  glimpses  that  would  make  me  less  forlorn ; 
Have  sight  of  Proteus  rising  from  the  sea ; 
Or  hear  old  Triton  blow  his  wreathed  horn," 

An  excerpt  from  his  great  ode  on  "Intimations  of  Immortality" 
is  quoted  in  the  essay  on  Plato,  on  page  44  of  this  volume.  An- 
other of  his  most  beautiful  poems  is  the  one  entitled  "Lines  com- 
posed a  few  miles  above  Tintern  Abbey."  It  is  in  these  lines  that 
he  gives  us  so  much  that  we  may  now  characterize  as  truly 
"Wordsworthian."    A  specimen  phrase  is  this: 

"That  best  portion  of  a  good  man's  life, — 
His  little,  nameless,  unremembered  acts 
Of  kindness  and  of  love." 

In  this  poem  we  also  find  these  characteristic  lines : 
"A  sense  sublime 
Of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused, 
Whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns. 
And  the  round  ocean  and  the  living  air 
And  the  blue  sky,  and  in  the  mind  of  man, — 
A  motion  and  a  spirit  that  impels 
All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought, 
And  rolls  through  all  things." 


246  WORDSWORTH 

In  another  of  his  poems  he  says: 

"Plain  hving  and  high  thinking  are  no  more. 
The  homely  beauty  of  the  good  old  cause 
Is  gone;  our  peace,  our  fearful  innocence, 
And  pure  religion  breathing  household  laws." 

In  the  same  spirit  he  writes  this,  in  a  letter  to  a  friend:  *lt  is 
an  awful  truth,  that  there  neither  is  nor  can  be  any  genuine  en- 
joyment of  poetry  among  nineteen  out  of  twenty  of  those  persons 
who  live,  or  wish  to  live,  in  the  broad  light  of  the  world — among 
those  who  either  are,  or  are  striving  to  make  themselves,  people 
of  consideration  in  society.  This  is  a  truth,  and  an  awful  one; 
because  to  be  incapable  of  a  feeling  of  poetry,  in  my  sense  of  the 
word,  is  to  be  without  love  of  human  nature  and  reverence  for 
God." 

Such  thoughts,  expressed  with  such  a  deep  sincerity  and 
spiritual  earnestness  in  his  poetry,  at  first  shocked  his  generation, 
and  then  subjected  it  to  his  will.  In  Wordsworth  there  is  peace, 
because  he  engenders  a  train  of  thought  which  ends  in  the  holy 
calm  of  a  soothed  and  rested  mind.  John  Stuart  Mill,  in  his 
Autobiography,  says:  "What  made  Wordsworth's  poems  a  medi- 
cine for  my  state  of  mind,  was  that  they  expressed  not  mere  out- 
ward beauty,  but  states  of  feeling,  and  of  thought  colored  by 
feeling,  under  the  excitement  of  beauty.  They  seemed  to  be  the 
very  culture  of  the  feelings  which  I  was  in  quest  of.  In  them  I 
seemed  to  draw  from  a  source  of  inward  joy,  of  sympathetic  and 
imaginative  pleasure,  which  could  be  shared  by  all  human  beings, 
which  had  no  connection  with  struggle  or  imperfection,  but  would 
be  made  richer  by  every  improvemxent  in  the  physical  or  social 
condition  of  mankind.  From  them  I  seemed  to  learn  what  would 
be  the  perennial  sources  of  happiness,  when  all  the  greater  evils 
of  life  shall  have  been  removed.  And  I  felt  myself  at  once  better 
and  happier  as  I  came  under  their  influence." 

Wordsworth  had,  in  his  own  beautiful  words,  listened  to  the 
"still,  sad  music  of  humanity."  and  grasped  the  rythm  of  its 
secret  chords.    Upon  the  whole,  there  is  no  better  summary  of 


WORDSWORTH  '      247 

his  work  than  the  sentence  uttered  by  Keble,  author  of  the 
"Christian  Year,"  who  claimed  for  him  "that  he  had  shed  a  celes- 
tial light  upon  the  affections,  the  occupations,  the  piety  of  the 
poor." 


m^ 


IX. 

DICKENS. 

Charles  Dickens  is  the  Shakespeare  of  the  novel.  He  hves 
in  his  characters.  We  may  speak  of  the  books  of  other  authors. 
But  with  Dickens  the'case  is  far  different.  We  are  not  interested 
so  much  in  the  novels  as  we  are  in  the  striking  personages  who 
inhabit  them.  Mr.  Pecksniff  exists  for  us,  apparently,  quite  in- 
dependently of  the  novel  "Martin  Chuzzlewit."  We  do  not,  in 
the  ordinary  sense,  re-read  "The  Pickwick  Papers."  We  simply 
renew  our  acquaintance  with  Sam  Weller  and  Mr.  Pickwick.  Not 
to  know  these  amiable  creatures  is  to  miss  half  the  joy  of  life. 
Not  to  know  them  connotes  a  degree  of  ignorance  approximating 
the  stupidity  of  persons  unacquainted  with  the  commonest  facts 
of  history.  Critics  have  decried  the  work  of  Dickens  because  of 
what  they  term  its  tendency  to  caricature,  its  approach  to  the 
grotesque,  its  proneness  to  exaggeration.  If  this  indictment  is 
to  be  taken  as  true,  and  if,  in  consequence,  we  may  truly  say 
that  the  people  of  Dickens  are  not  drawn  from  life,  then,  indeed, 
so  much  the  greater  genius  is  Dickens,  whose  "Imagination  bodies 
forth  the  forms  of  things  unknown,"  and  whose  wondrous  gift 

"Turns  them  to  shapes  and  gives  to  airy  nothing 
A  local  habitation  and  a  name." 

Are  there,  then,  no  Pickwicks  in  the  world  ?  If  not — all  the  worse 
for  the  world!  Does  httle  Nell  exist  only  in  Heaven,  a  kind  of 
glorified  Beatrice  in  Paradise?  Perhaps.  Out  of  the  fullness  of 
his  own  experience  let  the  reader  judge.  But  if  the  Dickens 
characters  are  not  of  this  world,  if  we  are  never  to  meet  them 
in  the  highways  and  byways  of  life,  then  it  behooves  us  to  seek 
without  delay  those  enchanted  realms  of  the  imagination  wherein 
they  dwell.    Let  the  Scotch  poet,  Alexander  Smith,  be  our  guide : 

"If  Mr.  Dickens's  characters  were  gathered  together,"  says 

I 

248 


DICKENS  249 

he,  "they  would  constitute  a  town  populous  enough  to  send  a 
representative  to  Parliament.  Let  us  enter.  The  style  of  archi- 
tecture is  unparalleled.  There  is  an  individuality  about  the  build- 
ings. In  some  obscure  way  they  remind  one  of  human  faces. 
There  are  houses  sly-looking,  houses  wicked-looking,  houses 
pompous-looking.  Heaven  bless  us !  what  a  rakish  pump !  What 
a  self-important  town-hall.  What  a  hard-hearted  prison !  The 
dead  walls  are  covered  with  advertisements  of  Mr.  Sleary's  circus. 
Newman  Noggs  comes  shambling  along.  Mr.  and  Misses  Peck- 
sniff come  sailing  down  the  sunny  side  of  the  street.  Miss  Mercy's 
parasol  is  gay ;  papa's  neckcloth  is  white  and  terribly  starched. 
Dick  Swiveller  leans  against  a  wall,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  a 
primrose  held  between  his  teeth,  contemplating  the  opera  of 
Punch  and  Judy,  which  is  being  conducted  under  the  management 
of  Messrs.  Codling  and  Short.  You  turn  a  corner,  and  you  meet 
the  cofRn  of  little  Paul  Dombey  being  borne  along.  In  the  after- 
noon you  hear  the  rich  tones  of  the  organ  from  Miss  LaCreevy's 
first  floor,  for  Tom  Pinch  has  gone  there  to  live  now ;  and  as  you 
know  all  the  people  as  you  know  your  own  brothers  and  sisters, 
and  consequently  require  no  letters  of  introduction,  you  go  up 
and  talk  with  the  dear  old  fellow  about  all  his  friends  and  your 
friends,  and  towards  evening  he  takes  your  arm,  and  you  walk 
out  to  see  poor  Nelly's  grave." 

We  no  longer  require  the  guidance  of  the  Scotch  poet.  Re- 
turning in  the  gloaming  we  pass  through  Dingley  Dell.  W^ardle's 
hearty  laughter  rings  among  the  rafters  of  the  old  farm  house 
and  lingers  along  the  lonely  vale,  where  sundry  figures  creep  from 
among  the  shadows.  Note  the  gruff  old  sailor,  with  the  bright- 
faced  boy  at  his  side.    Anon  we  hear  a  voice : 

"Wal'r,  my  boy,  in  the  Proverbs  of  Solomon  you  will  find  the 
following  words:  'May  we  ne\er  want  a  friend  in  need  nor  a 
bottle  to  give  him,'  When  found,  make  a  note  of."  And  there 
comes  another,  with  his  eye  still  fixed  on  the  coast  of  Greenland 
— Captain  Cuttle's  oracular  friend,  the  Admiral!  There  is  a 
flutter  along  the  hedge.  Awast!  It  is  the  widow  Mac  Stinger. 
Let  her  pass,  with  all  the  little  Mac  Stingers,  an  endless  proces- 


250  DICKENS 

sion  of  marital  bliss.  And  the  woman  with  her?  No,  that  is  not 
Peggotty.    We  recognize  the  shawl. 

"And  widge  I  was  saying  to  Mrs.  Harris" — 

Here  she  was  interrupted  by  the  tones  of  a  flute.    It  was  Mr. 
Mell.  and  he  blew  it  "until  I  almost  thought  he  would  gradually- 
blow  his  whole  being  into  the  large  hole  at  the  top,  and  ooze  away 
at  the  keys." 

And  Sairy  Gamp  concluded  that  she  had  no  preference  as  to 
her  ale,  excepting  that  she  liked  it  "reg'lar,"  and  "draw'd  mild." 

See  them  as  they  come  trooping  along  the  lanes  and  bypaths 
of  memory,  a  motly  throng,  making  another  pilgrimage  to  another 
Canterbury,  with  one  greater  than  Chaucer  for  a  guide — 

"Chambermaid  in  love  with  Boots, 
Toodles,  Traddles,  Tapley,  Toots, 
Betsey  Trotwood,  Mr.  Dick, 
Susan  Nipper,  Mistress  Chick, 
Snevellicci,  Lilyvick, 
Mantalini's  predilections 
To  transfer  his  warm  affections. 
By  poor  Barnaby  and  Grip, 
Flora,  Dora,  Di  and  Gip, 
Perrybingle,  Pinch  and  Pip — " 

But  hark !  The  sound  of  a  coach !  Do  you  not  hear  the  horn  of 
the  guard? 

"Yoho,  among  the  gathering  shades;  making  of  no  account 
the  deep  reflections  of  the  trees,  but  scampering  on  through  light 

and  darkness  all  the  same Yoho,  beside  the  village  green, 

where  cricket-players  linger  yet,  and  every  little  indentation  made 
in  the  grass  by  bat  or  wicket,  ball  or  player's  foot,  sheds  out  its 
perfume  on  the  night 

"Yoho,  behind  there,  stop  that  bugle  for  a  moment!  Come 
creeping  over  to  the  front,  along  the  coach-roof,  guard,  and,  make 
one  at  this  basket!  ....  Ah!  It's  long  since  this  bottle  of  old 
wine  was  brought  into  contact  with  the  mellow  breath  of  night, 


A  DICKENS  251 

you  may  depend,  and  rare  good  stuff  it  is  to  wet  a  bugler's  whistle 
with.  Only  try  it.  Don't  be  afraid  of  turning  up  your  finger, 
Bill,  another  pull !  Now  take  your  breath,  and  try  the  bugle.  Bill. 
There's  music!  There's  a  tone!  'Over  the  hills  and  far  away,' 
indeed,  Yoho!  The  skittish  mare  is  all  alive  tonight.  Yohol 
Yoho! 

"See  the  bright  moon;  high  up  before  we  know  it;  making 
the  earth  reflect  the  objects  on  its  breast  like  water  .... 

"Clouds,  too !  And  a  mist  upon  the  hollow !  Not  a  dull  fog 
that  hides  it,  but  a  light,  airy  gauze-hke  mist,  which  in  our  eyes 
of  modest  admiration  gives  a  new  charm  to  the  beauties  it  is 
spread  before.  .  .  .  Yoho!  Why,  now  we  travel  like  the  moon 
herself.  Hiding  this  minute  in  a  grove  of  trees,  next  minute  in 
a  patch  of  vapor,  emerging  now  upon  our  broad,  clear  course, 
withdrawing  now,  but  always  dashing  on,  our  journey  is  a  coun- 
terpart of  hers.    Yoho !    A  match  against  the  Moon !" 

And  so  we  come,  not  to  London  with  Tom  Pinch;  but  the 
coach  draws  up  to  Dingley  Dell,  to  discharge  its  cargo  of  immor- 
tals. See  them  aUght,  aided  by  old  Tony  Weller  and  Sam !  The 
great  Sergeant  Buzfuz  is  there,  attended  by  Mr.  Perker  of  Grey's 
Inn,  and  the  learned  Snubbin.  Dr.  Blimber,  Dodson  &  Fogg,  Mr. 
Solomon  Pell  (friend  of  the  Lord  Chancellor),  Carker  with  his 
cat-like  teeth,  Wickfield  and  Uriah  Heep,  Jonas  Chuzzlewit  and 
Sykes,  Bob  Sawyer,  Alfred  Jingle  and  Squeers,  and  all  the  rest, 
come  tumbling  out  like  the  contents  of  another  Noah's  Ark,  and 
over  all  beams  the  serene  countenance  of  the  noble  Pickwick  him- 
self. They  enter  at  old  Wardle's  cheery  call,  to  find  that  Mr. 
Micawber  has  the  punch  all  ready,  and  when  they  proceed  to  the 
hospitable  table  there  sits  Tiny  Tim,  and  we  hear  again  his  bene- 
diction,— "God  bless  us,  every  one !" 

"Joe!"  old  Wardle  calls;  "damn  that  boy,  he's  gone  to  sleep 
again!" 

Peaceful  be  his  slumbers,  and  may  he  waken  with  us  all,  in 
the  land  of  the  Master's  dreams ! 

As  Thackeray  said,  in  his  lecture  on  Charity  and  Humor, 
"One  might  go  on,  though  the  task  would  be  endless  and  need- 
less, chronicling  the  names  of  kind  folks  with  whom  this  kind 


252  DICKENS  _         _ 

genius  has  made  us  familiar.  Who  does  not  love  the  Marchioness 
and  Mr.  Richard  Swiveller?  Who  does  not  sympathize,  not  only 
with  Oliver  Twist,  but  his  admirable  young  friend  the  Artful 
Dodger?  Who  has  not  the  inestimable  advantage  of  possessing 
a  Mrs.  Nickleby  in  his  own  family?  Who  does  not  bless  Sairey 
Gamp  and  wonder  at  Mrs.  Harris?  Who  does  not  venerate  the 
chief  of  that  illustrious  family  who,  being  stricken  by  misfortune, 
wisely  and  greatly  turned  his  attention  to  'coals,'  the  accom- 
plished, the  Epicurean,  the  dirty,  the  delightful  Micawber? 

"I  may  quarrel  with  Mr.  Dickens's  art  a  thousand  and  a  thou- 
sand times,  I  delight  and  wonder  at  his  genius ;  I  recognize  in  it — 
I  speak  with  awe  and  reverence — a  commission  from  that  Divine 
Beneficence  whose  blessed  task  we  know  it  will  one  day  be  to  wipe 
every  tear  from  every  eye.  Thankfully  I  take  my  share  of  the 
feast  of  love  and  kindness  which  this  gentle  and  generous,  and 
charitable  soul  has  contributed  to  the  happiness  of  the  world. 
I  take  and  enjoy  my  share,  and  say  a  benediction  for  the  meal." 

The  descriptive  powers  of  Dickens  are  phenomenal.  As  a 
dehneator  of  child  life  he  has  never  had  an  equal,  and  the  Dickens 
child-characters  have  won  the  heart  of  the  world.  His  work  in 
this  regard  is  one  of  the  pecuhar  glories  of  English  Hterature. 
In  this  respect  some  great  literatures  are  barren.  Thus,  as  Taine 
remarks,  "We  have  no  children  in  French  literature."  And,  in- 
deed, we  can  recall  very  few  in  either  the  Italian  or  the  Spanish. 
In  his  portraiture  of  morbidity,  of  the  insane  and  the  feeble- 
minded, Taine  thinks  that  he  is  equalled  by  no  writer  save  Ernst 
Hoffman.  But  Balzac  is  the  Continental  writer  with  whom 
Dickens  is  most  frequently  if  not  most  aptly  compared.  Tolstoy, 
the  great  Russian,  declared  that  both  Dickens  and  Balzac  pro- 
duced some  inartistic  work,  but  he  beheved  Dickens  to  be  the 
greater  author. 

But  the  most  astounding  powers  of  Dickens  are  called  into 
play  when  he  touches  at  will  the  chords  of  joy  and  sorrow,  plung- 
ing from  the  height  of  gaiety  to  the  depths  of  woe,  and  with 
equal  facihty  leaping  back  again,  often  showering  smiles  athwart 
the  tears  like  sunbeams  through  a  mist,  and  blending  pathos  and 
humor  in  those  fascinating  mystic  soul-tints    which    no    other 


DICKENS  253 

artist's  hand  has  ever  drawn. 

E.  P.  Whipple,  an  American  critic,  observes:  "It  is  difficult 
to  say  whether  Dickens  is  more  successful  in  humor  or  pathos. 
It  is  certain  that  his  genius  can  as  readily  draw  tears  as  provoke 
laughter.  Sorrow,  want,  poverty,  pain,  death,  the  affections 
which  cling  to  earth  and  those  which  rise  above  it  he  represents 
always  with  power,  and  often  with  marvelous  skill.  His  style,  in 
the  serious  moods  of  his  mind,  has  a  harmony  of  flow  which  often 
glides  unconsciously  into  metrical  arrangement,  and  is  full  of 
those  words 

'Which  fall  as  soft  ';s  snow  on  the  sea, 
And  melt  in  the  heart  as  instantly.' 

One  source  of  his  pathos  is  the  intense  and  purified  conception  he 
has  of  moral  beauty — of  that  beauty  which  comes  from  a  thought- 
ful brooding  over  the  most  solemn  and  affecting  realities  of  life. 
The  character  of  Httle  Nell  is  an  illustration.  The  simiplicity  of 
this  creation,  framed  as  it  is,  from  the  finest  elements  of  human 
nature,  and  the  unambitious  mode  of  its  development  through  the 
motley  scenes  of  the  Old  Curiosity  Shop  are  calculated  to  make 
us  overlook  its  rare  merit  as  a  work  of  high  poetic  genius.  Amidst 
the  wolfish  malignity  of  Quilp,  the  suggared  meanness  of  I->rass, 
the  roaring  conviviality  of  Swiveller,  amidst  scenes  of  sellslmess 
and  shame,  of  passion  and  crime,  this  delicate  creation  moves 
along,  unsulhed,  purified,  pursuing  the  good  in  the  simple  earnest- 
ness of  a  pure  heart,  gliding  to  Ihe  tomb  as  to  a  sweet  sleep,  and 
leaving  in  every  place  that  her  presence  beautifies  the  marks  of 
celestial  footprints.  Sorrows  such  as  hers,  over  which  so  fine  a 
sentiment  sheds  its  consecrations,  have  been  well  said  to  be  ill- 
bartered  for  the  garishness  of  joy ;  'for  they  win  us  softly  from 
life,  and  fit  us  to  die  smiling'." 

But,  quite  apart  from  the  benefits  of  his  refreshing  humor 
and  the  uplifting  power  of  his  sweet  and  ennobling  spirituality, 
Dickens  accomplished  much  for  the  civic,  industrial  and  social 
betterment  of  his  generation  and  for  posterity  as  well.  He  it 
was  who  first  attacked  imprisonment  for  debt.  He  was  the  first 
great  prison  reformer.    In  the  matter  of  legal  administration  he 


254  DICKENS 

did  more  than  any  other  man  to  accomplish  the  substitution  of 
reasonable  codes  for  the  interminable  processes  of  chancery.  He 
smote  the  "circumlocution  office"  and  made  official  "red  tape" 
forever  unpopular.  He  launched  his  bolts  against  the  miserable 
makeshift  of  a  military  commissariat,  and  from  that  day  forth 
the  lot  of  a  British  soldier  has  been  easier  and  his  burdens  lighter. 
He  hurled  the  shafts  of  his  bitter,  blighting  irony  and  the  ter- 
rible force  of  his  heart-stirring  pathos  against  the  English  fac- 
tory system,  against  industrial  serfdom  in  the  mines  and  else- 
where, and  the  lives  of  laboring  men  are  better  and  upon  higher 
standards  because  of  his  work.  He  struck  at  the  debasing 
tyranny  of  the  petty  tyrants  of  the  school  room,  and  the  lives 
of  little  children  have  been  made  happier  and  brighter  as  a  result. 
But,  above  all  else,  there  resounds  throughout  his  life's  work  the 
pure  note  of  democracy  and  the  death-knell  of  snobbishness  in  all 
its  forms,  and  always  and  everywhere  the  appeal  for  justice  rings 
clear  and  true. 

Charles  Dickens  was  born  in  1812,  and  died  in  1870.  The 
hard  and  miserable  life  of  his  early  youth  is  paraphrased  to  some 
extent,  in  his  "David  Copperfield,"  as  we  are  informed  by  Foster 
in  his  life  of  Dickens.  His  youth  and  early  manhood  saw  little 
of  the  brighter  side  of  life.  But,  for  all  that,  no  writer  in  all  the 
literature  of  the  world  has  a  better  right  to  be  called  The  Apostle 
of  Good  Cheer. 


X. 
TENNYSON. 

The  volume  of  Tennyson's  poems  containing  "Oenone,"  "The 
Lotos  Eaters,"  "A  Dream  of  Fair  Women,"  and  "The  Lady  of 
Shalott,"  pubhshed  in  1832,  was  brought  to  America  by  Ralph 
Waldo  Emerson,  who  loaned  it  to  many  of  his  friends  of  Harvard 
College.  James  Russell  Lowell  was  one  of  those  who  thus  re- 
ceived his  first  knowledge  of  Tennyson  from  the  hand  of  Emer- 
son.   The  British  poet  had  published  his  first  poems  in  1830. 

In  1842  appeared  the  volume  containing,  ''Pvlorte  d'  Arthur," 
"Ulysses,"  and  "Locksley  Hall."  This  volume  secured  his  fame. 
In  1847  he  pubhshed  "The  Princess,"  and  in  1850  "In  Memoriam." 
Betw^een  1850  and  1875,  at  intervals  of  about  five  years,  he  pub- 
lished his  "Maud,"  "Idylls  of  the  King,"  (the  first  four),  "Enoch 
Arden,"  and  "The  Holy  Grail,"  followed  by  other  "Idylls."  These 
were  his  m^ajor  works.  But  he  continued  writing  until  the  end 
of  his  long  life.  His  "Crossing  the  Bar"  was  written  when  he  was 
eighty-one  years  of  age.  It  is  one  of  the  best  known  of  his  poems, 
and  it  is  so  beautiful,  so  sweet,  and  so  characteristic  of  the  poet 
in  his  best  mood,  that  it  is  here  given  in  full: 

Sunset  and  evening  star, 

And  one  clear  call  for  me ! 
And  may  there  be  no  moaning  of  the  bar, 

When  I  put  out  to  sea ; 

But  such  a  tide  as  moving  seems  asleep, 

Too  full  of  sound  and  foam, 
When  that  which  drew  from  out  the  boundless  deep 

Turns  again  home. 

Twilight  and  evening  bell. 
And  after  that  the  dark ! 

255 


256  TENNYSON 

And  may  there  be  no  sadness  of  farewell 
When  I  embark ; 

For  tho'  from  out  our  bourne  of  Time  and  Place, 

The  flood  may  bear  me  far, 
I  hope  to  see  my  Pilot  face  to  face 

When  I  have  crossed  the  bar. 

When  Longfellow,  the  American  poet,  in  1859,  read  the  first 
four  "Idylls,"  he  wrote  to  a  friend:  "  'The  Idylls'  are  a  great  suc- 
cess. Rich  tapestries,  wrought  as  only  Tennyson  could  have  done 
them,  and  worthy  to  hang  beside  'The  Faerie  Queen.'  I  believe 
there  is  no  discordant  voice  on  this  side  the  water."  Longfellow 
judged  correctly.  Tennyson's  resemblance  to  Spenser  has  been 
remarked  by  others  also.  Taine,  the  Frenchman,  noticed  it.  But 
he  wrote  in  styles  as  varied  as  his  subjects.  As  Taine  remarks 
(English  Lit.,  Vol.  4,  p.  661)  :  "He  wrote  in  every  accent,  and 
delighted  in  entering  into  the  feelings  of  all  ages.  He  wrote  of 
St.  Agnes,  St.  Simon  Styhtes,  Ulysses,  Oenone,  Sir  Galahad,  Lady 
Clare,  Fatima,  the  Sleeping  Beauty.  He  imitated  alternately 
Homer  and  Chaucer,  Theocritus  and  Spenser,  the  old  English 
poets  and  the  old  Arabian  poets,  ....  He  was  like  those  mu- 
sicians '.'ho  use  their  bow  in  the  service  of  all  masters." 

The  exquisitely  modulated  harmony  of  his  numbers  and  the 
smooth  and  equable  movement  of  Yds  verse  are  outstanding  fea- 
tures of  his  metrical  compositions.  These  capital  traits  are 
strikingly  illustrated  in  the  following  verses  from  "The  Princess" : 

The  splendor  falls  en  castle  walls, 

And  snowy  summits  old  in  story; 
The  long  hght  shakes  across  the  lakes, 
And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  flying ; 
Blow,  bugle;  answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying. 

O  hark,  0  hear!  how  thin  and  clear,  -    . 

And  thinner,  clearer,  farther  going! 


TENNYSON  257 

0  sweet  and  far  from  cliff  and  scar 

The  horns  of  Elfland  faintly  blowing ! 
Blow,  let  us  hear  the  purple  gems  replying, 
Blow,  bugle ;  answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying. 

O  love,  they  die  in  yon  rich  sky. 

They  faint  on  hill  or  field  or  river ; 
Our  echoes  roll  from  soul  to  soul. 
And  grow  forever  and  forever. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  flying. 
And  answer,  echoes,  answer,  dying,  dying  dying. 

Such  artistry  cannot  be  too  highly  praised.  Another  song  from 
"The  Princess"  has  become  the  best  known  lullaby  in  the  Enghsh 
tongue: 

'l^,  Sweet  and  low,  sweet  and  low, 

Wind  of  the  western  sea. 
Low,  low,  breathe  and  blow, 

Wind  of  the  western  sea ! 
Over  the  rolling  vvaters  go. 
Come  from  the  dying  moon,  and  blow, 
Blow  him  again  to  me; 
While  my  little  one  while  my  pretty  one  sleeps. 

We  believe  that  it  is  m  just  such  rare  and  dainty  bits  that 
Tennyson  excels  ail  the  poets  of  his  time.  They  are  like  miniature 
paintings  by  a  master  hand.  The  more  they  are  studied  the  more 
they  disclose,  behind  their  vermeil  veil  of  modesty,  their  great 
creator's  power.  They  are  like  shrinking  flowers  whose  beauty 
is  first  made  known  by  the  fragrance  they  exhale.  The  following 
is  an  unsurpassed  example  of  Tennyson  in  his  peculiar  and  all  but 
exclusive  field : 

Break,  break,  break 

On  thy  cold  gray  stones,  0  Sea! 


258  TENNYSON 

And  I  would  that  my  tongue  could  utter 
The  thoughts  that  arise  in  me. 

0  well  for  the  fisherman's  boy, 

That  he  shouts  with  his  sister  at  play ! 

0  well  for  the  sailor  lad, 

That  he  sings  in  his  boat  on  the  bay ! 

And  the  stately  ships  go  on 

To  their  haven  under  the  hill ; 
But  0  for  the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand 

And  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still ! 

Break,  break,  break 

At  the  foot  of  thy  crags,  0  Sea ! 
But  the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead 

Will  never  come  back  to  me. 

In  Tennyson  there  is  none  of  the  wild,  tempestuous  force  of  Byron. 
He  approximates  the  technical  correctness  of  Pope,  and  the  ten- 
der elegance  of  Wordsworth  and  Keats,  whose  intellectual  heir 
he  undoubtedly  was.  But,  as  remarked  above,  his  style  is  not 
always  the  same.  Sometimes  he  breaks  forth  in  a  far  richer 
strain  and  his  verses,  flashing  with  color,  gleam  like  a  jewelled 
brocade  zoned  with  silken  gold,  or  a  morning  sky  shot  o'er  with 
silver  stars,  empurpled  by  the  r-treaks  of  dawn.  Contemporary 
critics  were  a  unit  in  his  praise.  Mr.  McCarthy,  in  his  "History 
of  Our  Own  Times"  declares:  "Mr.  Tennyson  is  beyond  doubt 
the  most  complete  of  the  poets  of  Queen  Victoria's  time.  No  one 
else  has  the  same  combination  of  melody,  beauty  and  description, 
culture  and  intellectual  power.  He  has  sweetness  and  strength 
in  exquisite  combination."  In  Stedman's  Victorian  Poets,  it  is 
said  that  he  is  "Certainly  to  be  regarded  in  time  to  come  as,  all 
in  all,  the  fullest  representative  of  the  refined,  speculative  and 

complex  Victorian  age In  technical  excellence,  as  an  artist 

in  verse,  Tennyson  is  the  greatest  of  modern  poets."  He  has 
usually  been  known  as  a  poet  of  the  intellect,  rather  than  for  his 


TENNYSON  .  259 

mastery  of  the  passions.  Whipple,  the  American  critic,  in  his 
Essays  and  Reviews,  says :  "His  poetry  is  marked  by  intellectual 
intensity  as  distinguished  from  intensity  of  feeling."  Bayard 
Taylor  was  undoubtedly  correct  in  his  judgment  that  "Tennyson's 
place  in  the  literature  of  the  English  language,  whatever  may  be 
his  relation  to  the  acknowledged  masters  of  song,  is  sure  to  be 
high  and  permanent." 

The  life  of  Tennyson  was  as  uneventful  as  that  of  Words- 
worth. He  was  born  in  1809  and  died  in  1892.  He  was  the  third 
child  in  a  family  of  twelve.  His  father  was  a  clergyman  in  Lin- 
colnshire, and  a  man  of  unusual  intelligence.  The  poet  was  en- 
tered as  a  student  at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  where  he  at- 
tained, even  in  his  youth,  some  eminence  as  a  poet.  But  he  left 
the  university  in  1831  without  having  taken  a  degree,  and  thence- 
forth devoted  the  remainder  of  his  hfe  to  poetry.  For  over  sixty 
years  he  toiled  away  at  his  art,  and  hved  the  life  of  a  literary 
recluse.  His  first  productions  were  rather  inhospitably  received 
by  the  critics.  Literary  history  affords  no  more  conspicuous  ex- 
ample of  excellence  attained  through  great  labor,  and  of  persist- 
ent effort,  rightly  directed,  culminating  in  the  highest  triumphs 
'  of  genius. 

As  late  as  1850  he  was  stili  in  a  state  of  relative  obscurity. 
In  that  year  died  Wordsworth,  the  poet  laureate.  The  honor  was 
at  once  offered  to  Samuel  Rogers,  author  of  "The  Pleasures  of 
Memory,"  then  in  his  eighty-ninth  year.  The  venerable  poet  de- 
clined the  honor,  because  of  his  age,  but  ventured  to  suggest 
Alfred  Tennyson  for  the  post.  Lord  Palmerston,  the  British 
premier,  replied :  "We  know  nothing  of  this  gentleman."  Twenty 
years  after  the  publication  of  his  first  volume,  eighteen  years 
after  the  publication  of  his  "Morte  d' Arthur,"  "Ulysses,"  and 
"Locksley  Hall,"  and  three  years  after  publishing  "The  Princess," 
and  in  the  very  year  of  his  publication  of  "In  Memoriam,"  the 
British  government  had  never  heard  of  Alfred  Tennyson,  the 
greatest  of  the  "Victorians !"  But  he  was  nevertheless  appointed, 
upon  the  suggestion  of  Rogers.  Thirty-four  years  later,  in  1884, 
he  accepted  a  peerage  and  thus  became  the  first  member  of  the 
English  House  of  Lords  selected  alone  because  of  his  literary 


260  TENNYSON 

distinction.  He  had  previously  declined  the  honor  twice;  for 
Tennyson  believed,  and  in  the  depths  of  his  democratic  heart  he 
knew,  the  truth  of  these  lines,  which  he  had  written  in  1832 : 

"Howe'er  it  be,  it  seems  to  me, 

'Tis  only  noble  to  be  good. 
Kind  hearts  are  more  than  coronets 

And  simple  faith  than  Norman  blood." 

Tennyson  produced  some  of  his  best  work  in  the  treatment 
of  topics  of  current  interest.  Among  these  poems  may  be  men- 
tioned his  "Ode  on  the  Duke  of  Wellington,"  and  his  "Charge 
of  the  Light  Brigade."  During  the  recent  international  crisis 
these  prophetic  lines  from  "Locksley  Hall,"  published  in  1842, 
were  recalled  throughout  the  world : 

For  I  dipped  into  the  future  as  far  as  human  eye  could  see, 
Saw  the  Vision  of  the  world,  and  all  the  wonders  that  would  be ; 
Saw  the  heavens  fill  with  commerce,  argosies  of  magic  sails. 
Pilots  of  the  purple  twilight,  dropping  down  with  costly  bales; 
Heard  the  Heavens  filled  with  shouting,    and    there    rained    a 
ghastly  dew 

From  the  nations'  airy  navies  grappling  in  the  central  blue; 
Far  along  the  world-wide  whisper    of   the    south-wind    rushing 
warm. 

With  the  standards  of  the  peoples  plunging  through  the  thunder- 
storm ; 

Till  the  war-drum  throbbed  no  longer,  and  the  battle-flags  were 
furled 

In  the  Parliament  of  man,  the  Federation  of  the  world. 

There  the  common-sense  of  most  shall  hold  a  fretful  realm  in  awe, 

And  the  kindly  earth  shall  slumber,  lapped  in  universal  law. 

And  so  Alfred  Tennyson  moved  through  life,  reticent,  retir- 
ing, savoring  more  of  the  cloister  than  of  the  court,  hermit-like, 


TENNYSON  261 

uttering  his  soul-cries  and  his  prophecies;  Hke  the  voices  of 
Dodona,  always  heard,  but  by  the  public  never  seen.  As  W. 
Howitt  wrote,  so  long  ago :  "You  may  hear  the  voice,  but  where 
is  the  man?  He  is  wandering  in  some  dreamland  beneath  the 
shade  of  old  and  charmed  forests,  by  far-off  shores,  w^here 

'All  night 
The  plunging  seas  draw  backward  from  the  land 
Their  moon-led  waters  white ;' 

by  the  old  mill-dam  thinking  of  the  merry  miller  and  his  pretty 
daughter ;  or  is  wandering  over  the  open  wolds,  where 

'Norland  whirlwinds  blow.' 

From  all  places — from  the  silent  corridor  of  an  ancient  con- 
vent ;  from  some  shrine  where  a  devoted  knight  recites  his  vows ; 
from  the  drear  monotony  of  the  moated  grange,  or  the  ferny 
forest,  beneath  the  talking  oak, — comes  the  voice  of  Tennyson, 
rich,  dreamy,  passionate,  yet  not  impatient ;  musical  with  the  airs 
of  chivalrous  ages,  yet  mingling  in  his  songs  the  theme  and 
spirit  of  those  that  are  yet  to  come." 


INDEX. 


TO  MY  BOOKS. 

As  one  who,  destined  from  his  friends  to  part, 
Regrets  his  loss,  but  hopes  again  er 'while 
To  share  their  converse  and  enjoy  their  smile, 

And  tempers,  as  he  may,  affliction's  dart. 

Thus,  loved  associates,  chiefs  of  elder  art. 

Teachers  of  wisdom,  who  could  once, beguile 
My  tedious  hours,  and  lighten  every  toil, 

I  now  resign  you,  nor  with  fainting  heart. 

For  pass  a  few  short  years,  or  days,  or  hours. 

And  happier  seasons  may  their  dawn  unfold, 
And  all  your  sacred  fellowship  restore; 

When  freed  from  earth,  unlimited  its  powers. 

Mind  shall  with  mind  direct  communion  hold, 

And  kindred  spirits  meet  to  part  no  more. 

— Roscoe. 


INDEX. 


(References  are  to  pages.) 


A. 


Adams,  Charles  Francis,  on  Mon- 
taigne and  Cicero,   137. 

Adamson,   Robert,  on   Kant,    185. 

"Adamus  Exsul,"  The,  by  Grotius, 
223. 

ADDISON,  Joseph,  on  Homer,  41; 
on  Virgil,  7;  Wieland  compared 
with,  195,  196;  translation  of 
Ovid,  13;  on  Milton,  222;  sketch 
of,  224-227;  characterization  of, 
225;  tribute  by  Macaulay,  226; 
by  Johnson,  226;  by  Thackeray, 
227;  compared  with  Montaigne, 
225. 

AESCHYLUS,  sketch  of,  29-31; 
at  battle  of  Marathon,  29;  hon- 
ored by  King  Hiero,  29;  critical 
opinions  by  Mark  Pattison  and 
C.  H.  Moore,  30;  conclusion  of 
Macaulay,  31;  imitated  by  Schil- 
ler, 178. 

Alighieri  (See  Dante). 

ALFIERI,  sketch  of,  97-100;  ap- 
praised by  Matthew  Arnold, 
Gioberti  and  Mariotti,  97;  his 
dedication  to  George  Washing- 
ton, 98;  compared  with  Cowper, 
100;  Macaulay  on,  100;  inspired 
by  Plutarch,  46;  his  hatred  of 
France,  98. 

Amadis  de  Gaula,  The,  122,  123. 

Andreini,  his  relation  to  Milton, 
223. 

Antonio,  Nicolas,  his  eulogy  of  the 
Argensolas,  119. 

ANACREON,  sketch  of,  56-59; 
Thomas  Moore's  estimate  of, 
56;  Lessing's  imitations  of,  180; 
favorite  of  Hipparchus  and  Po- 
lycrates,  56;  imitations  by  Vil- 
legas,  120;  characterization  of, 
59. 


ARGENSOLAS,  The,  sketch  of, 
118-119;  praised  by  Cervantes, 
118;  by  Lope  de  Vega,  119;  esti- 
mate by  Ticknor,  118;  by  Dieze, 
119;  eulogized  by  Nicolas  An- 
tonio, 119. 

ARIOSTO,  sketch  of,  80-82;  his 
Orlando  Furioso,  80,  81;  Ber- 
nardo Tasso  on,  80;  Galileo  on, 
81;  Hallam  on,  81;  compared 
with  Homer,  Virgil,  Dante,  Tas- 
so and  Ovid,  81;  his  satires,  81; 
views  of  Tiraboschi,  81;  com- 
pared with  Spenser,  216;  with 
Scott,  82;  his  debt  to  Boiardo, 
82;  berated  by  Pellegrini  and 
Castelvetro,  84;  Rose's  trans- 
lation, 82. 

Aristophanes,  Moliere  compared 
with,  157;  attacked  Euripides, 
35;  Rabelais  compared  with, 
140. 

ARISTOTLE,  sketch  of,  32-34; 
friend  of  Philip  of  Macedon,  and 
tutor  of  Alexander,  32,  33;  his 
Peripatetic  school,  33;  opinion 
of  Hegel,  33;  vast  scholarship, 
33;  his  view  of  education,  34; 
praised  Euripides,  35. 

Arnold,  Matthew,  on  Alfieri,  97; 
on  Homer,  41;  on  Herder  and 
Lessing,  199;  on  Heine,  202;  on 
Spenser,  217;  on  Byron,  234; 
on  Wordsworth,  244. 

Art,  definitions  of,  86. 

Aurelius  (See  Marcus  Aurelius). 


Bacon,     Francis,     on    history,     2; 

his  erroneous  quotation  of 

Plutarch,  47. 
Balzac,  Honore  de,  on  Montaigne, 

136-7;  compared   with   Dickens, 


(iii) 


IV 


INDEX. 


252;  Victor   Hugo's  oration  on, 
167. 
Bastile,   The,   Voltaire's  imprison- 
ment in,  160. 
Barros,    Joan    de,    his    praise    of 

Vicente,   128. 
Berni,      Franceso,      imitated      by 

Byron,  in  Beppo,  83. 
Blair,   Dr.   Hugh,   tribute  to   Cor- 
neille,  151 ;  on  Moliere,  157 ;  opin- 
ion   of    Lucan,    10;    on    Shakes- 
peare, 213. 
BOCCACCIO,    sketch    of,    72-74; 
influence  on  French  and  English 
letters,  73;  Decameron,  73;  lec- 
tures on  Dante,  73;  F.  M.  War- 
ren    on,     73;     contrasted     with 
Petrarch,  74;  La  Fontaine  com- 
pared with,  158. 
Bodmer,    his    discovery    of    Klop- 
stock,    190;   Wieland's   debt   to, 
194. 
BOIARDO,   sketch   of,   83-85;  his 
Orlando    Inammorata,    83;    Hal- 
lam's  view,   83;  compared   with 
Ariosto,  83;  burlesqued  by  Berni, 
83;   version   by    Domenichi,    83; 
Milton's    familiarity    with,    84; 
shorter  poems,  84,  85. 
Boileau,  on  Corneille,  150;  friend  of 
Racine,     152;     compared     with 
Pope,  229. 
Bolingbroke,  Lord,  opinion  of  Livy, 

1. 
Bossuet,  his  controversy  with  Fen- 

elon,  144. 
Bounaparte,  Napoleon,  his  admira- 
tion of  Goethe,  171. 
Bouterwek,  on  Lope  de  Vega,  103; 
on  Cervantes,  108;  on  Camoens, 
117;    on    Villegas,    121;    on    the 
Argensolas,  119. 
Boyesen,  Prof.,  estimate  of  Goethe, 
173;  on  the  friendship  of  Goethe 
and  Schiller,  171. 
British  authors,  209-261. 
Brutus,  Horace  a  follower  of,  4. 


Buonarroti,  Michelangelo  (See 
Michelangelo). 

Burke,  Edmund,  his  prose  com- 
pared with  Milton's,  220. 

BYRON,  Lord,  his  imitation  of 
Berni,  83;  his  reference  to 
Petrarch,  70;  to  Dante,  65;  his 
praise  of  Pope,  229,  238;  Macau- 
lay's  criticism,  234;  Matthew  Ar- 
nold, Goethe  and  Taine  on,  234; 
Castelar  on,  234;  Dr.  Elze's  esti- 
mate of,  234,  235;  Mazzini  on, 
235;  his  world-wide  influence, 
236;  compared  with  Milton, 
Homer  and  the  Hebrew  Scrip- 
tures, 237;  Sir  Walter  Scott's 
tribute,  238;  fondness  for  Dante 
and  Tasso,  234;  sketch  of,  233- 
238. 


Caesar,  Augustus,  friend  of  Livy,  1 ; 
his  exile  of  Ovid,  12;  friendship 
for  Horace  and  Virgil,  4,  8. 

CALDERON,  sketch  of,  131-133; 
Corneille's  debt  to,  131;  trans- 
lated by  Schlegel,  132;  compared 
with  Lope  de  Vega,  131;  imi- 
tated by  Dryden,  132. 

CAMOENS,  sketch  of,  112-114; 
his  Lusiad,  112;  opinion  of  Hal- 
lam,  112;  Southey  on,  112;  his 
miscellaneous  works,  112,  113; 
Bouterwek  on,  114;  his  imita- 
tions of  Plautus,  113. 

Campbell,  Thomas,  on  Spenser, 
217. 

Capital  punishment,  Hugo  on,  167. 

Corporali,  Cesare,  his  satire  imi- 
tated by  Cervantes,  108. 

Carey,  translation  of  Dante,  64. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  estimate  of 
Goethe,  169;  t  r  a  n  s  1  a  t  i  on  of 
Goethe,  172;  on  Kant,  185; 
translation  of  Richter,  187;  opin- 
ion of  Richter,  187,  188;  on 
Shakespeare,    213. 

Castelar,  on  Lord  Byron,  234. 


INDEX. 


CASTRO,  Gullen  de,  sketch  of, 
125-127;  imitated  by  Calderon, 
125;  his  dramatization  of  The 
Cid,  125;  adapted  by  Corneille, 
125;  story  of  The  Cid,  126; 
critique  by  Ticknor,  127. 
CERVANTES,  sketch  of,  107- 
111;  his  Galatea,  107;  his  Nu- 
mancia,  108;  praised  by  Schlegel, 
Shelly,  Bouterwek  and  Goethe, 
108;  his  Journey  to  Parnassus, 
108;  Don  Quixote,  108,  109; 
Heine  and  Hallam  on,  109; 
Sismondi,  Bouterwek  and  Lan- 
dor  on,  110;  Ticknor  quoted, 
110;  compared  with  Rabelais, 
111,  142;  various  Cervantes  edi- 
tions, 111;  his  opinion  of  the 
Amadis  de  Gaula,  123;  Scott's 
indebtedness  to,  242. 
Champmele,    Mme.    de,    Racine's 

love  for,  152. 
Chaucer,  his  familiarity  with  Ovid, 
14;   personally   acquainted   with 
Petrarch,    69. 
Chesterfield,    tribute    to    Montes- 
quieu, 147,  148. 
Choate,    Rufus,    his    reference    to 

Machiavelli,  137. 
Church,   Dean,   on   Dante,   67;   on 

Spenser,  216. 
Cicero,  compared  with  Montaigne, 

137. 
Cid,  The,  125,  127. 
Coleridge,  S.  T.,  praises  Carey's 
Dante,  64;  on  Shakespeare,  213; 
relations  with  Wordsworth,  243. 
CORNEILLE,  sketch  of,  149-151; 
his  debt  to  Castro,  125;  to 
Calderon,  132;  Dowden's  opinion 
of,  149;  La  Harpe,  Fontenelle, 
Scudery  and  Voltaire  on,  149; 
Boileau  on,  150;  Moliere's  col- 
laboration with,  150;  eulogized 
by  Racine,  150;  praised  by  St. 
Evremont,  150;  his  debt  to 
Lucan,  150;  Dr.  Blair's  tribute. 


151;  his  advice  to   Racine,  152; 

opposed  by  Richelieu,  149. 
Cowley,  his  debt  to  Spenser,  216. 
Cowper,     compared    with    Alfieri, 

100. 
Criticism,  Goethe  on,  173;  German, 

Lessing     the     father     of,      180; 

Kames'      Elements      of,      cited; 

Quintilian,  father  of  ancient,  26. 

D. 

DANTE,  sketch  of,  63-67;  political 
career,  63;  the  Divine  Comedy, 
64;      Carey's     translation,      64; 
Byron's   reference   to,   65;   char- 
acterization of,  65;  Dr.  Garnett 
quoted,  66;  opinions  of  Macaulay 
and   Dean  Church,  67;  Boccac- 
cio's   lectures    on,    75;    Milton 
compared     with,     222;     Byron's 
fondness  for,  234. 
DeQuincey,     on     Kant,     186;    his 
praise  of  Pope,  229;  on  Words- 
worth, 244;  Life  of  Riehter,  187. 
DeStael,     Madame,    her    view    of 
Goethe,     169;     visited     Schiller, 
178;  her  opinion  of  Kant,  183. 
DICKENS,     Charles,     sketch    of, 
248-254;  his  portraiture  of  char- 
acters, 248;  Thackeray  on,  251; 
compared  with  Balzac  and  Ernst 
Hofi'man,    252;    Tolstoy's    view, 
252;   tribute  of  E.   P.   Whipple, 
253;  his  civic  reforms,  253,  254. 
Dieze,  on  the  Argensolas,  119;  on 

Villegas,  120. 
Domenichi,    Lodovico,   his   version 

of  Boiardo,  83. 
Dowden,    Edward,    his    praise    of 

Corneille,  149. 
Drama,  the  modern,  first  produced 

by  Vicente,  128. 
Dryden,  translation  of  Ovid,  13; 
copied  Plautus,  18;  reference  to 
Milton,  216;  to  Shakespeare,  211. 
Duffand,  Madame  du,  her  tribute 
to  Voltaire,  161. 


VI 


INDEX. 


E. 

Education,  Phitarch's  views  on, 
48. 

Einstein,  his  theory  of  relativity 
suggested  by  Kant,  184. 

Elze,  Karl,  his  estimate  of  Byron, 
234,  235. 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  on  Mon- 
taigne, 136;  on  Shakespeare,  212; 
introduced  Tennyson  to  Amer- 
ica, 255. 

English  authors,  209-261. 

Epicurus,  friend  of  Menander,  49. 

Essay,  the  modern,  fathered  by 
Montaigne,  135. 

EURIPIDES,  sketch  of,  35-37; 
compared  with  Sophocles,  35; 
pupil  of  Anaxagoras,  35;  at- 
tacked by  Aristophanes  and  ap- 
proved by  Aristotle,  35;  anec- 
dote by  Plutarch,  35,  36;  in- 
fluence on  modern  drama,  36; 
Racine's  debt  to,  152,  153;  imi- 
tated by  Milton,  223. 

F. 

Faguet,  tribute  to  Corneille,  151. 

Farmer  poet,  Virgil  the,  7. 

Faust,  Goethe's,  the  history  of, 
172. 

FENELON,  sketch  of,  143-145; 
his  controversy  with  Bossuet, 
144;  on  education,  144;  Hallam's 
opinion,  144;  compared  with 
Froebel,  Pestalozzi  and  Locke, 
145;  his  Telemachus,  145;  Vol- 
taire on,  145;  eulogized  by  La 
Fontaine,  158;  Wieland  com- 
pared with,  196;  his  love  of 
books,  144;  his  imitation  of  Fon- 
teneUe,  145;  La  Harpe's  view  of, 
145;  his  debt  to  Lucian,  145. 

Fielding,  Henry,  Lady  Montague's 
observation  on,  139;  compared 
with  Shakespeare,  213. 

Fontenelle,  his  tribute  to  Corneille, 
149;  imitated  by  Fenelon,  145. 


Francis,  Sir  Philip,  view  of  Horace, 

4. 
Free  speech,  Lessing's  advocacy  of, 

181;  Milton's  struggle  for,  221. 
French  authors,  135-168. 
Frere,  J.  Hookman,  translation  of 

The  Cid,  127. 
Friendship,  Horace  on,  6. 

G. 

Galileo,  on  Ariosto,  81;  visited  by 
Milton,  219. 

Garnett,  Dr.  Richard,  on  Dante, 
66. 

Gautier,  his  appraisal  of  Heine, 
203. 

German  authors,  169-208. 

Gioberti,  on  Alfieri,  97. 

GOETHE,  Johann  Wolfgang  von, 
his  praise  of  Cervantes,  108; 
sketch  of,  169-174;  tribute  by 
Carlyle,  169;  compared  with 
Homer,  Dante  and  Shakespeare, 
169;  opinions  of  Taine  and  Ma- 
dame de  Stael,  169;  his  meeting 
with  Herder,  170;  translated  by 
Scott,  170;  tribute  by  Napoleon, 
171;  his  golden  jubilee,  171; 
friendship  with  Schiller,  171; 
translated  by  Carlyle,  172;  his 
Faust,  172;  tributes  by  Bayard 
Taylor  and  George  Henry  Lewes, 
172;  by  Prof.  Boyesen,  173;  by 
Taine,  173;  on  criticism,  173; 
his  view  of  war,  173;  his  praise  of 
Richter,  187;  influenced  by  Klop- 
stock,  192;  friendship  for  Herder, 
199;  \asited  by  Heine,  202;  his 
praise  of  Milton,  223;  on  Byron, 
234;  on  Lessing,  181;  compared 
with  Weber,  206. 

Golden  mean,  Horace  on,  5. 

Goldsmith,  Oliver,  his  influence  on 
Goethe,  170;  visited  Voltaire, 
161. 

Gray,  Thomas,  tribute  to  Milton, 
223;  compared  with  Horace,  5; 
opinion  of  Pope's  Homer,  230. 


INDEX. 


Vll 


Greek  authors,  29-62. 

Grotius,     Hugo,     compared     with 

Machiavelli,  91,  92;  his  relation 

to  Milton,  223. 
Guarini,  60,  94. 

H. 

Hallam,    Henry,    on    Ariosto,    81; 
on  MachiaveUi,  90;  on  Petrarch, 
69;    on    Don    Quixote,    109;    on 
Camoens,    112;    on    Montaigne, 
136;   on   Rabelais,    140;  on   Ra- 
cine,   153;    on   Boiardo,    83;   on 
Fenelon,    144;    on    Shakespeare, 
213;  on  Spenser,  216;  on  Milton, 
222. 
Hamilton,    Alexander,    his    quota- 
tion of  Montesquieu,  147. 
Hegel,  his  view  of  Aristotle,  33. 
HEINE,  sketch  of,  200-203;  trans- 
lated by  Scott,  200;  his  compari- 
son with  Don  Quixote,  201;  his 
opinion  of   America,   202;   Mat- 
thew Arnold  on,   202;  his  visit 
with  Goethe,  202;  Gautier's  ap- 
praisal    of,     203;     intellectually 
the  child  of  Byron,  23.5. 
Henry,  Patrick,  Byron's  praise  of, 

236, 
HERDER,  J.  G.,  sketch  of,   197- 
199;  as  a  bibliophile,  197;  friend- 
ship with  Goethe,  197;  his  trans- 
lations,   198;    Matthew    Arnold 
on,    199;   influence   on   his   con- 
temporaries,  198. 
Hiero,     King,     patron     of     Theo- 
critus,   62;    of    Pindar,    53;    of 
Aeschylus,  29. 
HOMER,  sketch  of,  38-41 ;  German 
critics   of,    38;    modern    transla- 
tions, 38;  characterization  of,  by 
Prof.  Blair,  38,  39;  Pope's  trans- 
lation,    39,     230;     opinions     of 
Hazlitt,    Matthew    Arnold    and 
Joseph   Addison,    41;   compared 
with  Virgil,   Tasso  and  Milton, 
41;    Pope's   comparison   of   with 
Virgil,  230. 


HORACE,  sketch  of,  4-6;  be- 
friended by  Virgil,  4;  by  Augus- 
tus, 4;  opinion  of  Philip  Fran- 
cis, 4;  his  love  for  Virgil  and 
Maecenas,  6;  Montaigne  com- 
pared with,  136;  Wieland  com- 
pared with,  196;  compared  with 
Alcaeus,  Sappho  and  Anacreon, 
4;  his  "golden  mean,"  5;  Pope 
compared  with,  229. 

Howitt,  W.,  on  Tennyson,  261. 

Holland,  Lord,  on  Lope  de  Vega, 
103. 

HUGO,  Victor,  164-168;  tribute  by 
Tennyson,  165;  by  Lanson,  166; 
contrasted  with  Diderot  and 
Renan,  166;  on  capital  punish- 
ment, 167;  orations  on  Balzac 
and  Voltaire,  167;  his  political 
triumph,  166;  C.  C.  Stark- 
weather on,  166;  his  crayon  of 
John  Brown,  167. 

Hume,     David,    his    influence    on 
Kant;  view  of  Milton,  222. 


"Imitation  of  Christ,"  rendered 
into  verse  by  Corneille,  150. 

Irish,  the,  English  tyranny  over, 
215,  216. 

Italian  authors,  63-100. 


Johnson,  Samuel,  on  Milton,  222; 

on  Addison,  226;  on  Pope,  229. 
Jowett,  Prof.,  on  Plato,  45. 
Juvenal,     imitated     by     Quevedo, 

116. 

K. 

KANT,  sketch  of,  183-186; 
Madame  de  Stael's  opinion  of, 
183;  George  Henry  Lewes  on, 
183;  compared  with  Plato,  184; 
his  "Critique,"  184;  suggestion 
of  Einstein's  theory  of  relativity, 
184;  influenced  by   Hume,   184; 


VIU 


INDEX. 


Robert  Adamson  on,  185;  Car- 
lyle  on,  185;  Schlegel  on,  185; 
DeQuincey  quoted,  186;  char- 
acterization by  Albert  Schweg- 
ler,  186;  anticipated  nebular 
hypothesis  of  LaPlaee,  184. 

Karnes,  Lord,  his  "Elements  of 
Criticism"  cited,  145. 

Keats,  John,  Tennyson  compared 
with,  258;  tribute  to  Spenser, 
218. 

Keble,  his  characterization  of 
Wordsworth,  247. 

KLOPSTOCK,  sketch  of,  190-193; 
his  Miltonic  character  noted  by 
Bodmer,  190;  Roscoe's  transla- 
tion of  his  "Messiah,"  190;  in- 
fluence on  Goethe,  192;  his  place 
in  German  literature,   192,   193. 

L. 

LA  FONTAINE,  sketch  of,  158- 
159;  eulogized  by  Fenelon,  158; 
compared  with  Boccaccio,  158; 
rivals  Phaedrus,  158. 

LaHarpe,  eulogy  of  Racine,  154; 
on  Corneille,  149;  preferred  Fen- 
elon to  Fontenelle,  145. 

Lamartine,  opinion  of  Tasso,  77. 

Landor,  W.  S.,  on  Cervantes,  110; 
on  Shakespeare,  212. 

Laplace,  his  nebular  hypothesis  an- 
ticipated by  Kant,  184. 

Lavatar,  definition  of  art,  86. 

Law,  Hooker's  definition  of,  170. 

L'Estrange,  translation  of  Quevedo, 
116. 

LESSING,  sketch  of,  180-182;  his 
imitations  of  Anacreon,  180;  his 
work  on  criticism,  180,  181; 
Maeaulay  on,  181;  Goethe's 
view,  181;  his  fidelity  to  the 
Greek  standards,  182;  Matthew 
Arnold  on,  199;  prepared  way 
for  Fichte  and  Kant,  181;  ad- 
vocacy of  free  speech,  181;  Mil- 
ton   compared    with,    221;    con- 


troversy with  Pope,  230;  con- 
trasted with  Addison,  225. 

Lewes,  George  Henry,  tribute  to 
Goethe,  172;  on  Kant,  183;  trib- 
ute to  Socrates,  42. 

Lieber,  Francis,  his  view  of 
Montesquieu,  147;  contrasted 
with  Machiavelli,  91. 

LIVY,  sketch  of,  1-3;  friend  of 
Augustus,  1;  his  History  of 
Rome,  1;  Bolingbroke's  opinion 
of,  1,  2;  his  epitaph,  1;  his  view 
of  history,  2. 

Longfellow,  Henry  W.,  his  praise 
of  Tennyson,  256. 

LOPE  DE  VEGA,  sketch  of,  101- 
106;  his  Italian  imitations,  101; 
his  precocious  scholarship,  101; 
his  lyrics,  102;  his  plays,  103; 
Bouterwek  and  Lord  Holland 
on,  103;  Cervantes  on,  104; 
Tieknor  on,  104;  discards  Ter- 
ence and  Plautus,  104;  imitated 
by  Moliere,  105;  compared  with 
Shakespeare,  209. 

Lowell,  James  Russell,  on  Theo- 
critus, 62. 

LUCAN,  sketch  of,  10-11;  his 
Pharsalia,  11;  was  Corneille's 
model,  150;  Nero's  hatred  of,  10. 

Lucian,  followed  by  Quevedo,  Fon- 
tenelle and  Fenelon,  145. 

LUCRETIUS,  sketch  of,  15-17; 
his  De  Rerum  Natura,  15;  com- 
pared with  Milton,  16;  poem  on, 
by  Tennyson,  15. 

M. 

Maeaulay,  on  Dante,  67;  on 
Machiavelli,  92;  on  Aeschylus, 
31;  on  Alfieri  and  Cowper,  100; 
on  Don  Quixote,  109;  on  Vol- 
taire, 162;  on  Lessing,  181;  on 
Shakespeare,  213;  on  Spenser, 
218;  on  Milton,  220;  on  Addison, 
226;  on  Byron,  234. 

MACHIAVELLI,  sketch  of,  90- 
93;  Taine  on,  90;  The  Prince,  90, 


INDEX. 


IX 


91;  Hallam  on,  90;  contrasted 
with  Francis  Lieber,  91;  mis- 
construed by  Andrew  Dickson 
White,  91;  contrasted  with  Gro- 
tius,  91,  92;  appraised  by  Rufus 
Choate,  92;  Shakespeare's  mis- 
conception of,  92;  Macaulay  on, 
92;  founded  school  of  philosophi- 
cal politics,  93. 
Madison,    James,    his    opinion    of 

Montesquieu,  147. 
Maecenas,   friendship   for   Horace, 
4;  friend  of  Virgil,  7;  "the  Ger- 
man Maecenas,"  176. 
Maintenon,    Madame    de,    her   in- 
fluence with  Racine,  153. 
Mansoni,    Allesandro,    his    I 

Promessa  Sposi,  74. 

MARCUS  AURELIUS,  sketch  of, 

2-22;    opinion    of    .John    Stuart 

Mill,  21;  his  Meditations,  21,  22. 

Martial,  his  opinion  of  Quintilian, 

26. 
Marlowe,    Christopher,    his    trans- 
lation of  0\Td,  13. 
Matthews,    Brander,    on    Moliere, 

156. 
Mazzini,    tribute   to    Lord    Byron, 

235. 
McCarthy,   Justin,    on   Tennyson, 

258. 
MENAKDER,    sketch    of,    49-52; 
friend  of  Epicurus,  49;  imitated 
by    Plautus    and    Terence,    49; 
German  translations  of,  49;  Ad- 
dison compared  with,  226. 
METASTASIO,  sketch  of,   94-96. 
MICHELANGELO,  sketch  of,  86- 
89;     Symonds'     characterization 
of,  86;  sonnet  on  Dante,  87;  Sid- 
ney Colvin  quoted,  88;  sonnet  to 
Pistoja,    89;    love    for    Vittoria 
Colonna,     89;     painting    by 
Schneider,    89;    compared    with 
Petrarch,  89. 
Mill,  John  Stuart,  on  Marcus  Aure- 
lius,     21;     his     appreciation     of 
Wordsworth,  246. 


MILTON,  John,  compared  with 
Klopstock,  190;  reference  to 
Boiardo,  84;  indebtedness  to 
Spenser,  216;  sketch  of,  219,  223; 
his  great  learning,  219;  his 
polemics,  220;  Macaulay  and 
Mark  Pattison  on,  220;  com- 
pared with  Lessing,  221;  Hallam 
on,  222;  compared  with  Dante, 
222;  Addison,  .Johnson  and 
Hume  on,  222;  relation  to  Gro- 
tius,  Vondel  and  Andreini,  223; 
imitated  Sophocles  and  Euripi- 
des, 223;  Goethe's  tribute,  223; 
Byron  compared  with,  237. 

MOLIERE,  sketch  of,  15.5-157; 
borrows  from  Lope  de  Vega,  105; 
Brander  Matthews  on,  156;  com- 
pared with  Plautus,  Terence  and 
Aristophanes,  157;  Blair  on,  157; 
his  appreciation  of  La  Fontaine, 
158;  copied  Plautus,  18;  com- 
pared with  Shakespeare,  210. 

Montalvan,  on  Lope  de  Vega,  101, 
106. 

MONTALVO,  sketch  of.  122-124; 
his  Amadis  of  Gaul,  122;  praised 
by  Tasso,  123;  Italian  versions 
of,  122,  123. 

MONTESQUIEU,  sketch  of,  146- 
148;  Voltaire's  eulogy  of ,  146;  his 
popularity  in  America,  146,  147; 
his  debt  to  Tacitus,  147;  Madi- 
son's oT)inion  of,  147;  Francis 
Lieber  on,  147;  Chesterfield's 
tribute  to,  147,  148. 

MONTAIGNE,  sketch  of,  13.5- 
138;  Hallam,  Emerson  and 
Sainte-Beuve  on,  136;  character- 
ization of,  137;  Shakespeare's 
debt  to,  138;  Pasquier  on,  138; 
compared  with  Wieland,  196. 

N. 

Napoleon,  tribute  to  Goethe,  171. 
Numancia,  The,  of  Cervantes,  108. 


INDEX. 


O. 

OVID,  sketch  of,  12-14;  banished 
by  Augustus,  12;  his  Ars  Ama- 
toria,  and  Epistolae  Ex  Ponto, 
12;  his  moral  instability,  12,  13; 
his  Medea  and  Metamorphoses, 
13;  translation  by  Dryden,  Mar- 
lowe and  Addison,  13;  Shakes- 
peare's familiarity  with,  13; 
Chaucer's  knowledge  of,  14. 


Palmerston,  Lord,  his  appointment 
of  Tennyson  as  laureate,  259. 

Pastoral  poetry,  origin  and  growth 
of,  60,  61. 

Pasquier,  Etienne,  on  Montaigne, 
138. 

Pattison,   Mark,   on   Milton,   220 
on  Aeschylus,  3*0. 

PETRARCH,    sketch    of,    68-71 
Latin  poems  of,  68;  father  of  the 
Renaissance,  68;  his  travels,  69 
early  English  views  of,  69;  Hal- 
lam's   estimate,    69;    Laura,   69 
receives  laurel  crown,  69;  com- 
pared with  Montaigne,  135;  imi- 
tated by  Villegas,  121. 

PLUTARCH,  sketch  of,  46-48; 
his  Lives,  46,  47;  praised  by 
Alfieri,  Napoleon,  Petrarch, 
Montaigne,  St.  Evremont  and 
Montesquieu,  46;  North's  trans- 
lation, 47;  Shakespeare's  debt  to, 
47;  Bacon's  erroneous  quotation, 
47;  his  views  on  education  and 
statesmanship;  his  anecdote  of 
Euripides,  35;  of  Pindar,  53. 

PINDAR,  sketch  of,  53-55;  anec- 
dote by  Plutarch,  53;  praised  by 
Cicero  and  Pausanias,  53;  opin- 
ion of  Plato,  53;  his  odes,  54, 
55;  modern  translations,  55; 
compared  with  Horace,  4. 

PLATO,  sketch  of,  42-45;  pupil  of 
Socrates  and  teacher  of  Aris- 
totle,  42;   companion   of   Xeno- 


phon,  42;  his  metaphysics,  43, 
44;  influence  upon  ancient  cul- 
ture, 44;  his  Republic,  45;  Kant 
compared  with,  184;  his  travels, 
43;  his  experience  with  Diony- 
sius,  43;  his  debt  to  Lycurgus, 
45;  Prof.  Jowett  on,  45. 

PLAUTUS,  sketch  of,  18-19;  in- 
fluence on  English,  German  and 
French  literature,  18;  imitated 
Menander,  49. 

Poe,  Edgar  Allen,  "The  Poetic 
Principle,"   86. 

Political  philosophy  (see  Mon- 
tesquieu and  Machiavelli.) 

POPE,  Alexander,  on  Spenser,  217; 
sketch  of,  228-232;  Thackeray's 
estimate  of,  228;  Taine  on,  228, 
229;  Johnson's  praise  of,  229; 
Byron's  admiration  of,  229,  238; 
compared  witii  Boileau  and  with 
Sappho,  229;  Leslie  Stephen's 
criticism,  230;  translation  of 
Homer,  230;  friendship  with 
Swift,  and  satire  on  Addison, 
230,  231;  controversies  with  Vol- 
taire, Lessing  and  Crousaz,  230; 
his  compaiTson  of  Virgil  and 
Homer,  231. 

Q- 

QUINTILIAN,  sketch  of,  26-28; 
Martial's  opinion  of,  26;  his  De 
Institutiones  Oratoris,  26;  be- 
friended by  Domitian,  26. 

QUEVEDO,  sketch  of,  115-117; 
his  Paul  the  Sharper,  and  Vis- 
ions, 116;  translated  by  L'Es- 
trange,  116;  imitations  of  Ju- 
venal and  Persius,  116. 

R. 

RABELAIS,  sketch  of,  139-142; 
estimate  of,  139;  Wells  on,  139, 
140;  compared  with  Fielding, 
139;  resemblance  to  Lucan  and 


INDEX. 


XI 


Aristophanes,  140;  Taine  and 
Voltaire  on,  141;  Sainte-Beuve 
on,  141,  142;  compared  with 
Cervantes,  142;  with  Swift,  140; 
his  last  words,  142. 

RACINE,  eulogized  by  Corneille, 
150;  sketch  of,  152-154;  his 
friendship  with  Boileau,  Moliere 
and  Furetiere,  152;  Hallam  on. 
153;  influenced  by  Madame  de 
Maintenon,  153;  his  debt  to 
Euripides,  153;  compared  with 
Virgil,  154. 

Religious  hypocrisy,  Moliere  on, 
166. 

Republic,  Roman,  its  restoration 
favored  by  Agrippa,  8;  Plato, 
Republic,  45. 

Revolution,  French,  Voltaire's  re- 
lation to,  163. 

Richelieu,  his  opposition  to  Cor- 
neille,  149. 

RICHTER,  Jean  Paul,  sketch  of, 
187-189;  his  "Levana"  praised 
by  Goethe,  187;  translated  by 
Carlyle,  187;  Carlyle's  estimate 
of,  187,  188;  compared  with 
Carlyle,  189;  DeQuincey's  Life 
of,  187;  Lady  Chattcrton's  ex- 
cerpts 187;  on  authorship,  188; 
his  sobriquet  of  "Der  Einzige," 
188. 

Rogers,  Samuel,  his  recommenda- 
tion of  Tennyson  for  poet  lau- 
reate, 259. 

Roman  authors,  1-28. 

Roscoe,  translation  of  Klopstock's 
"Messiah,"   190. 

Rothensteiner,  Rev.  John,  his 
translation  from  Weber,  206. 

Rousseau,  influence  on  Schiller, 
175;  anticipated  by  Penelon,  144. 

S. 
Sainte-Beuve,  on  Montaigne,  136, 

138;  on  Rabelais,  141,  142. 
Saintsbury,    on   Wordsworth,    244. 
Sappho,  Pope  compared  with,  229. 


SALLUST,  sketch  of,  23-25;  Epis- 
tles to  Caesar,  Jugurthine  War, 
Conspiracy  of  Cataline,  23;  Dr. 
Stewart's  critique,  23. 

SCHILLER,  friendship  with 
Goethe,  171;  sketch  of,  175-179; 
influenced  by  Rousseau,  175;  his 
historical  work,  177;  literary  as- 
sociation with  Goethe,  177; 
Goethe's  tribute  to  "Wallen- 
stein,"  178;  visited  by  Madame 
de  Stael,  178;  his  triumph  at 
Berlin,  178;  his  imitation  of 
Aeschylus  and  Sophocles,  178; 
admitted  to  French  citizenship, 
177. 

Schiegel,  on  Kant,  185;  translation 
of  Shakespeare,  195;  of  Calderon, 
132. 

Sehwegler,  Albert,  estimate  of 
Kant,  186. 

SCOTT,  Sir  Walter,  sketch  of,  239- 
242;  his  Goethe  translation,  170; 
translation  of  Heine,  200;  tribute 
to  Byron,  238;  his  translations 
from  the  German,  239;  his  obli- 
gation to  Cervantes,  242;  found- 
er of  the  historical  novel,  239; 
success  of  his  novels,  242;  his 
advice  to  Lockhart,  242. 

Seneca,  Corneille's  debt  to,  149. 

SHAKESPEARE,  William,  trans- 
lation by  Wicland,  195;  by 
Schiegel,  195;  his  d(>bt  to  Ovid, 
13;  his  debt  to  Plutarch,  47; 
his  plagiarism  of  Montaigne, 
138;  his  injustice  to  Machiavelli, 
92;  sketch  of,  209-214;  com- 
pared with  Lope  de  Vega,  209; 
his  want  of  scholarship,  209, 
210;  compared  with  Moliere  and 
Goethe,  210;  secret  of  his  power, 
210;  Hudson's  view,  211;  Emer- 
son and  Landor  on,  212;  his 
characters,  212,  213;  Macaulay 
quoted,  213;  Hallam  on,  213; 
views  of  Coleridge,  Carlyle  and 
Blair,  213;  Taine  on,  214. 


Xll 


INDEX. 


Slavery,  Hugo  on,  168. 

Socrates,  tributes  to,  42. 

Sophocles,  imitated  by  Voltaire, 
160;  by  Schiller,  178;  by  Milton, 
223. 

Soubrette,  the,  created  by  Cor- 
neille,  149. 

Spanish  authors,  101-133. 

SPENSER,  Edmund,  sketch  of, 
215-218;  his  service  in  Ireland, 
215,  216;  Dean  Church's  biog- 
raphy quoted,  216;  literary  style 
of,  216;  compared  with  Ariosto, 
216;  Hallam's  opinion,  216;  Cow- 
ley's debt  to,  216;  Milton's  ac- 
knowledgment, 216;  Alexander 
Pope  on,  217;  Matthew  Ar- 
nold and  Campbell  quoted,  217; 
Macaulay's  criticism,  218;  re- 
sembled by  Tennyson,  256. 

Stedman,  E.  C,  on  Tennyson,  258. 

Stephen,  Leslie,  on  Alexander 
Pope,  230. 

St.  Evremont,  his  praise  of  Cor- 
neille,  150;  opinion  of  Plutarch, 
46. 

St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  Wordsworth 
compared  with,  244. 

Surrey,  Earl  of,  "the  English 
Petrarch,"  69. 

Swift,  Jonathan,  friend  of  Pope, 
230;  compared  with  Rabelais, 
140. 

T. 

Taine,  H.  A.,  estimate  of  Goethe, 
169,  173;  on  Machiavelli,  90; 
comparison  of  Rabelais  and 
Swift,  141;  on  Shakespeare,  214; 
on  Pope,  228,  229;  on  Byron, 
234,  236;  on  Tennyson,  256. 

TASSO,  Torquato,  sketch  of,  75- 
79;  his  Rinaldo,  75;  Aminta,  76; 
Gerusalemme  Liberata,  76;  com- 
pared with  Homer,  76;  Voltaire's 
opinion,  76;  compared  with  Vir- 
gil, 77;  estimates  by  Lamartine 
and  Corniani,   77;   his  insanity. 


78;  Goethe's  drama,  78;  his 
Gerusalemme  Conquistata,  79, 
compared  with  Ariosto,  81;  aided 
by  Pope  Sixtus  V.,  78;  Byron's 
admiration  of,  234. 

Taylor,  Bayard,  tribute  to  Goethe, 
172. 

TENNYSON,  Alfred,  Weber's 
translation  of,  204;  poem  on 
Lucretius,  15;  introduced  to 
America  by  Emerson,  255;  Long- 
fellow's appreciation,  256;  re- 
semblance to  Spenser,  256;  Taine 
on,  256;  compared  with  Byron, 
Pope,  Wordsworth  and  Keats, 
258;  McCarthy  on,  258;  Sted- 
man quoted,  258;  Whipple  on, 
259;  Lord  Palmerston's  ignor- 
ance of,  259;  W.  Howitt  on,  261; 
his  debt  to  Theocritus,  61. 

Thackeray,  W.  M.,  on  Addison. 
227;  estimate  of  Pope,  228;  on 
Dickens,  251. 

THEOCRITUS,  sketch  of,  60-62; 
Prof.  Blair's  estimate,  60;  father 
of  pastoral  poetry,  60,  61;  Low- 
ell's reference  to,  62. 

Ticknor,  Hist,  of  Spanish  Lit.,  104; 
on  the  Argensolas,  118;  on  Vil- 
legas,  121;  his  estimate  of  The 
Cid,  127;  his  opinion  of  Vicente, 
128. 

Tiraboschi,  on  Ariosto,  81. 

Tolstoy,  his  comparison  of  Dick- 
ens and  Balzac,  252. 

U. 

Urfe,  Honore  de,  his  "Astree,"  61, 

62. 
Ulrici,  on  "Dogberry,"  212. 

V. 

Vega  (See  Lope  de  Vega). 
VICENTE,    sketch    of,     128-121; 

father   of    modern    drama,    128; 

views  of  Ticknor  and  de  Barros, 

128. 


INDEX. 


xni 


VILLEGAS,  sketch  of,  120-121; 
the  Spanish  Anaereon,  120;  opin- 
ion of  Bouterwek,  121;  his  imita- 
tions of  Anaereon,  Horace, 
Catullus  and  Petrarch,  121. 

VIRGIL,  sketch  of,  7-9;  aided  by 
Maecenas,  7;  Georgics,  Addison's 
opinion  of,  7;  his  Aeneid,  8;fame 
of,  9;  his  friendship  for  Horace, 
4;  a  disciple  of  Theocritus,  60; 
Pope's  comparison  of  with  Ho- 
mer, 231. 

VOLTAIRE,  eulogy  of  Montes- 
quieu, 146;  on  Corneille,  149; 
on  Racine,  153;  imitated  Sopho- 
cles, 160;  residence  in  England, 
160;  in  Germany,  161;  visited 
by  Goldsmith,  161;  his  French 
triumph,  162;  Macaulay  on, 
162;  estimate  of  his  literary 
work,  163;  his  incarceration  in 
the  Bastile,  160;  his  financial 
successes,  161;  Benjamin  Frank- 
lin and,  162;  compared  with  R. 
G.  IngersoU,  163;  relation  to  the 
French  revolution,  163;  contro- 
versy with  Alexander  Pope,  230; 
his  anathema  against  Shakes- 
peare, 235. 

Vondel,  Joost  Van  den,  his  relation 
to  Milton,  223. 


W. 

War,  Goethe's  view  of,  173. 

Washington,  George,  Byron's  rev- 
erence of,  236;  Alfieri's  tribute 
to,  98. 

WEBER,  F.  W.,  his  translation  of 
Tennyson,  204;  sketch  of,  204- 
208;  his  "Dreizehnlinden,"  205; 
compared  with  Wordsworth  and 
Goethe,  206;  Rothensteiner's 
transalation,  208-7. 

Whipple,  E.  P.,  his  critique  on 
Dickens,  253;  on  Tennyson,  259. 

White,  A.  D.,  his  comparison  of 
Grotius  and  Machiavelli,  91,  92. 

WIELAND,  sketch  of,  194-196; 
his  debt  to  Bodmer,  194;  com- 
pared with  Addison,  195,  196; 
translation  of  Shakespeare,  195; 
compared  Vvith  Fenelon,  Virgil, 
Cicero  and  Horace,  196;  his 
translations  of  Greek  and  Roman 
classics,  195;  resembles  Mon- 
taigne, 196. 


X. 

Xenophon,  pupil  of  Socrates,  and 
companion  of  Plato,  42. 


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